An Unwanted Present
by Lady Berenice
Summary: If you really feel that you must bribe a despotic invader, she would really prefer flowers, bath salts and chocolates to live Elves. They take up too much room, for a start
1. Personally, I'd go for the bath salts

This is my obligatory Lord of the Rings fanfic. While it uses original characters from my Tamora Pierce fanfics and original work, I hope that it will make sense on its own. 

An Unwanted Present

Chapter 1

------- The Human ----

I could swear that the oily little man actually oozed. 

"…I know that it is not the way of your Highness's people," he was continuing in his cringing, fawning way, "but we hope that this insignificant gesture and most humble gift may show the high regard in which we…."

It was at that point that I stopped listening. Annexing new territories was always such a pain, but, unusually for a military commander, I was more uncomfortable when our new conquests surrendered as quickly as these people had, rather than fight back. In this case, we had scarcely had to show ourselves at the border with a (I thought) very politely worded note about how they weren't being very accommodating, and they bent over backwards to remedy the perceived insult. By the time we had made any significant inroads into their territory (and the Imperial Army moves fast), they had managed to depose their royal family, slaughter half the bureaucracy, and have a delegation moving towards us with rich gifts and the flags of surrender. 

I've always been highly suspicious of these situations. To my mind, it's much more…normal….at least to have some sort of resistance, no matter how sporadic. We had known that the previous rulers were the worst sorts of incompetents this world has ever seen (ergo, the testing little letter to see how much in the way of trade concessions we could get), but not so that their ambitious underlings would be able to use so small a chance to overthrow them. 

The subject of the conversation was currently being held limply by two members of the surrender delegation. A gift to show their willingness to co-operate, they said, it – well, he, I think – was a rather strikingly beautiful young man, tall, slender and dressed in what appeared to be a tunic of translucent white gauze. He had similar colouring to me – pale skin, and light blond hair, long like mine, veiling most of his face – which was, in fact, rather prettier than mine, as a matter of fact. I wasn't sure that 'man' was precisely the right word to use, though. While I had known several people whose beauty was bordering on the inhuman – my own cousins, for one – this was someone – something -  who went over that border. Even though he had clearly been extremely distressed when he was conscious (though doing a good job of hiding it), and had been under some discomfort for some time, his skin was ever-so-slightly luminous, and there was something slightly unusual about his musculature and facial structure that I couldn't quite put my finger on. 

For the first few minutes, when the delegation had been brought in front of me, he had been conscious, though only barely – it was clear that he had been drugged, and his eyes were glazed and unfocused. He had started struggling, only to be cuffed into stillness by one of his guards. 

"You are aware, of course, that the slavery is not permissible in the Empire?' I was perfectly aware that I was interrupting the long-winded speech, and also aware that I had not been listening to a single word that he was spouting. I had aides and secretaries to listen to bores anyway. 

"We are aware that there are some differences in custom, Highness,." The man oozed, unperturbed. I really must work on my 'icy glare'. I'm trying to copy the Empress's, of course, since my sister really trumps anyone in the 'icy chill' stakes. "But is it not the trade of slaves that is so rightly frowned upon, not the taking or the giving? For we took this humble gift in the dark forests, and now we present him to you as a symbol of our willingness to be part of the great Empire."

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's legal hair-splitters – my own lawyer, who happens to be both a colleague and good friend, excepted, of course. I didn't bother to put the little worm in his place – true, it is only the trade in slaves that is strictly illegal, but he had also forgotten that it was only the Diadem that was permitted to take or give them (a little legal fiction to deal with prisoners-of-war, a few centuries ago, I think). 

For anyone else, the penalty is death. 

Another one of the delegation, perhaps more perceptive than the rest, noticed my severe displeasure, and bowed. "We hope that you will accept and enjoy our humble gift, Highness," he said smoothly, "I hope this is the beginning of a great and prosperous time in our simple land."  He motioned for the guards to deposit the unconscious figure onto the ground, with a little, barely hidden smirk at me which indicated just what they had intended I use this little 'gift' of theirs for. 

I know I've somewhat of a reputation in that area, but wherever else my tastes lie, give me credit for sticking to my own subspecies. The more I looked at my 'gift' the more certain I was that whatever these oily amateur administrators had brought me, it wasn't human.

Which put me in a rather interesting quandary as to whether I could have them prosecuted with 'slave-trading'. The statute, after all, does specifically mention 'human' as the subject matter. 

Never mind, there were other ways to acquaint them with the Imperial legal system. 

I turned back to the figure on the ground as the door closed, ignoring the sounds of the delegation being arrested for bribery. 

That's a capital offense too, though I had no intention of enforcing the maximum penalty. 

Executions are very messy, and the paperwork involved is an absolute nightmare. 

But then again, I don't have to do it. 

It was tempting, very tempting. 

"So," I asked the prone body slowly, "what on earth am I going to do with you?"

He wasn't helpful enough to regain consciousness. 

Why do people always insist on giving me such ridiculous presents in an effort to impress me? I would have been much happier with a nice bouquet of flowers and some bath salts. 

Flowers and bath salts, after all, don't make a habit of passing out on my floor. 

----------The Elf --------

The darkness faded slowly and I reluctantly opened my eyes. I knew not what drugs they had given me to keep me docile for the weeks and months since they set upon me, but I did know that I had one monster of a headache. 

I was no longer in the windowless stone cell where they had thrown me, away from light and air, but in what appeared to be a private room. It was wood paneled – not large, but the windows were wide open to let in the sun and the sound of birdcalls. I was in someone's bed – which was that odd width that was too small for two, and yet wider than those designed for one – covered in soft wool blankets of a dull gray and …pink sheets.  

There was a scratch of a pen, and the sound of someone pushing a chair back. "You're awake." The voice was female, no-nonsense, and as she came to stand by the side of my bed I recognised the human woman that the delegation had come to see. She was young, I think, as far as humans go – it is difficult to tell, after all –she wasn't very much past adolescence – with hair and eyes a close match for mine and a bearing of regal dignity. 

She looked at me with a rather clinical gaze, as though I were some fascinating bug pinned to a board with an illegible name card underneath reading 'Elf'. I found that it was distinctly more unpleasant that the looks of lust and hunger that I had been receiving from other humans of late. 

"Well," she began after a pause. While her voice did not have the melodious quality of my kind, it was not unpleasant. "It is not every day that one of the Fair Folk collapses on my floor."

"My lady, it was hardly my choice," I protested. 

"I gather not." She smiled, if moving the corner of her mouth slightly upwards can be called that. "I have sent the Udirean delegation on their way. How on earth did you come to be in such – ah – illustrious company?" her tone was polite, but a little removed, probably the product of a lifetime – however short - of etiquette training and formality. 

"I was attacked, lady, on my travels," I began slowly, acutely becoming aware that like elf-kind, this woman had a steely, direct gaze, and rarely blinked. "I was set upon in the mountains, and was brought to my captors who decided to keep me as a prize." 

She gave a polite nod. "I would not have thought that your kind could be taken so easily," 

For some reason, it came out as a delicate conversation opener, not a snide insult. Looking past her, at the small desk where she had been sitting, I caught sight of a small stack of books that she had evidently been studying while I was unconscious. I bristled at the spine of one, which read, in the human tongue, 'Elves, Goblins, Orcs, and other Legendary and Mythical Creatures.' 

She caught my gaze. "It has been a very long time since we have seen your kind within these borders, Master…" she trailed off, making me acutely aware that we still hadn't got around to introducing ourselves. She didn't seem to want to harm me – dissect me to have a look around, perhaps, but otherwise she seemed more curious than malicious – so I saw no harm in an introduction. 

"My name is Legolas, son of Thranduil…" I hesitated over the rest, but then thought that it couldn't possibly make it any worse if she knew the rest, "King of Mirkwood."

She raised her eyebrows, and inclined her head slightly, a gesture I recognised that humans used as a courtesy between equals. I remembered, vaguely, that the leader of my captors had called her 'Highness'. 

"I am Berenice, daughter of Vanaria, the late Empress, and sister of the Empress Rislyn." She stopped, "But you'd better call me Kay. Everyone else does, and it would be less confusing for everyone around here." She fixed me with that direct look again, and I found myself wondering if, very far back, there might be a drop or two of the blood of my folk in her. "But now that you're awake, the first thing's first." There was a distinct, almost motherly tone to her voice, which, considering that she might have been, for all I knew, a hundredth of my age, seemed slightly ridiculous, "what do elves eat, exactly?"  


	2. On maps and common languages

Chapter 2

----Kay----

The most immediate answer to that question was 'almost anything, just not very much'. 

However, Legolas was polite enough to pick at the tray I bellowed (in the most ladylike fashion possible, of course) for someone to send up. As a courtesy, I took a little from the generous spread, so he could see that it was not drugged or otherwise poisonous, but I think he would have eaten anyway.

He was rather decorative, I'd give him that – but ornamental or not, I still had no idea what to do with him. I could hardly nail him up to the mantelpiece with a little display plaque – we hadn't the nails to spare, after all, and I didn't even _have_ a mantelpiece - and I had no idea how my sister's new subjects had managed to get hold of him, how far he'd travelled, or, indeed, where he'd come from. In all the well-mapped, well-charted bounds of the Empire, there had been no hint of Elves, and the only places they were found were between the pages of mythology books and the far-fetched, cheap fantasy novels that abounded in my comparatively youthful legions (how else do you think I could have managed to get hold of no less than ten different reference books on Elves in such a short space of time, and an entire pile of sword-and-sorcery-trash? Why am I thinking of a species in Capital Letters anyway?). Universal literacy might mean a lot of absolute crud gets published, but it also means that somewhere in all that, even (or perhaps that should be especially) on the hardest campaigns (and this was not one), there was always a rather extraordinary library floating around in the thousands of rucksacks and saddlebags, covering practically every subject imaginable.  

Historically, of course, Elves were known to have lived in the lands that are now the Empire, but they'd long since faded into myth. Tales of the Elves had submerged themselves into the song-cycles and legends of hundreds and thousands of cultures, until they were intertwined so thoroughly with the indigenous heroes and deities that it was difficult to decide where one ended and the other began. I fancied that I was probably in the presence, as far as some of my more distant ancestors were concerned, of a demi-god. 

Even considering that I'm an atheist, that was something pretty special. 

----Legolas----

I had the perpetual sense that I was some sort of fascinating scientific curiosity to the woman, as well as a problem she'd rather not have, but nothing more. It was a distinctly odd feeling coming from a human, who, as a race, have tended to look upon me with desire, with lust, or even (so they think) with love. I was not sure whether to be relieved or insulted. 

The food was plain, but good, and the portions were enough to feed an entire army. Evidently it was meant for both of us, for Kay – as she wanted me to call her – I had no idea why, as it didn't sound anything like the formal name she had given me – took a little on a plate, and ate with me. Evidently, she had no desire to seem a niggardly host, but there was more food there that I could eat in a week. Than a hobbit could eat in a week – which is really saying something. 

She was looking at me strangely again. "I'll see what I can do about clothes," she said, still in that almost-motherly tone, "You'll catch your death of cold running around like that."

For an instant, I could see my mother there – well, if my mother had ever worn a mail shirt and sword, that is. I did not mention that catching cold was the very least of my worries. 

Her words finally registered, and I realized that I was still wearing – if I could call it that – the thin white tunic and leggings my previous captors had so 'generously' provided me with. I would have blushed, had it been possible for me to, or if she had been looking at me with anything other than her seemingly habitual expression of polite interest. 

There was a knock at the door, and it opened to reveal a young human man, about Kay's age, holding several large maps. He looked in my direction, clearly curious about the identity of his commander's (for I had guessed that the princess whose room I was evidently occupying was very much in control) guest – or perhaps just curious about elves in general. Whatever he expected, I fear that I was not quite what he had in mind. He gaped, he stared, and then, forcing himself under control, deposited his burden on the desk (on top of a book which read 'Elves, Fairies, and Pixies' – well, I suppose I should be mildly flattered that at least we always came first in their reckoning) and made for the exit as quickly as possible. That was yet another odd reaction. I wondered if I was losing my touch, or whether these humans were simply extremely strange.  

"Oh Saro," Kay said absently as the young man tried to back out the door, apparently not noticing his distress – though I could see that she did - "can you ask around the boys and see if anyone has any spare gear they can lend our guest? I fear that even though you haven't all that much an advantage over me when it comes to height, Highness," she looked at me with humour twinkling at the edges of her eyes, "you're not going to fit into any of mine – even if they weren't all pink at the moment." 

I snuck at look at her sheets. 

As my youngest sister would say, pink was not my colour. 

------Kay-----

I have to confess it. Pink is my favourite colour – as unwarriorlike as that may seem. However, that does not mean that I'm unprofessional enough to wear it on-duty, much less on a military campaign. The current state of my non-official clothing is due to a little disaster in the laundry of the last fort before we headed into this boring backwater, with my secretary forgetting the little rule about separating light and dark colours – the result of which, my formerly white sheets, shirts, underwear, and miscellaneous clothing are all varyingly shades of pink, courtesy of my second-best official red tunic. Remind me to bring a valet, or at least someone who knows the first rule of laundry on a campaign next time, will you? For that matter, remind me to hire a valet sometime soon – doing my own ironing, now that I have to negotiate peace (and so look the part of a stateswoman – very hard in a wrinkled tunic, I can tell you) as well as fight wars, is really very tiresome. 

I showed Legolas the maps that I had Saro bring to me from the map room– they were larger-scaled, less-detailed maps, that showed the bounds of the world as we knew it – not the more detailed ones that I kept in my own quarters. Which reminded me – I could hardly keep Legolas in my room for much longer – the couch wasn't quite long enough for me, and there wasn't much of a possibility that we could both fit on the bed without one of us throwing the other out – he was slightly taller than me, and I'm not exactly a tiny, delicate little snowdrop. He could not recognise any landmarks, cities, or geographical structures – and when I found, among the towering mess that was my desk, some spare paper, ink and a pen for him – I could see that the map of the world as he knew it was equally unfamiliar to me. 

We were in a slight quandary. I had not yet been able to obtain the maps that the locals used (with that in mind, I went and ordered Justinia to go and find some), so it appeared that as far as each of us was concerned, the other might as well have come from an entirely different reality – one that most mysteriously seemed to speak the same language – when, before the concerted efforts of generations of Empresses to have some sort of consistency across the Empire, one would find that villages no more than half a days' journey apart that had speech so completely different that they could not do more than trade with each other. 

It was really most odd.  

_Note: 'Berenice', in this world,  is pronounced 'Bur – RHEN – ni – kai'. Legolas, with his keen elven  hearing, doesn't think that the transition between 'kai' and 'kay' is terribly convincing. _

_Kay, as readers of my other stories will know, is slightly short of 6", but otherwise looks like a classic fairytale princess – blonde, blue-eyed, elegant – only she is a fairly mean hand with a sword and has a nasty streak most wicked witches would blanch at.  _


	3. Maps and Other Marvels

---Legolas---

I must confess that I am an indifferent cartographer at best – but even had I been the most skilful and learned of scholars I doubted it would have made one iota of difference to my dilemma. 

The lands, the features of Middle Earth meant nothing to my host – nor, when I found sudden inspiration – were the Undying Lands to the west, which I had seen only in the oldest maps in my father's library. Equally, the maps that she showed me of her world, though meticulous and highly detailed, were equally unfamiliar to me. 

I could not remember where I had been taken after I had been captured. I remembered very little of my journey after I had been set upon east of the caves, but west of Erebor. In my foolishness, I had decided to ride take a short journey alone, to take joy that the darkness had passed from my home. Though I would leave for Ithilien soon, to settle a new Elven community with those young Elves who wished adventure away from the Greenwood and the caves, that forest would ever be my home. 

I didn't even know what had happened to my horse. I hoped that he at least would have managed to escape, to make his way back to the hall so that at least someone would be alerted to my plight. 

"I've sent my aide to find some of the locals' maps," my host told me, perplexed. She seemed to be taking one of my distinctly amateur efforts and holding it up against one of her maps, trying to work out if there was any logical way that they could fit together – whether there was a common river, or even a forest or wood that could cross the wide expanses of paper. 

Judging by her efforts, not even she was able to stretch the bounds of reality so far – and she was really trying. I'm serious. I swear, she must have had considerable artistic talent, for I would never have even attempted some of her carefully considered combinations. I wasn't sure whether I should be insulted that she so clearly wanted me to be gone and back to my world as soon as possible, though at least I was glad that she wanted to make sure that I knew how to get there, and presumably that I would get there safely. 

I gave myself the mental equivalent of a headshake. Most humans that I had met were fascinated by Elves, and sometimes that fascination had been a little too close for my liking or comfort. This was the first that I had met, who, despite her clear academic interest in my kind, wished nothing so much as for me to be gone safely, so she would have one less bothersome concern to pester her as she did whatever humans do when they take over territory. If I wasn't equally anxious _to_ be gone, I think that I would be equally curious about these strange people. 

There was a knock at the door, and my eyes widened at the woman who entered. She was about the age of my host, and she was quite simply the tallest human woman I had ever seen, even taller than some of the Elves. She was of a race of Men that I had not seen before, dark of skin, with black hair that was arranged in short tight curls around her head. I must have been staring, because she returned my gaze with an equally level, scrutinizing one of her own. 

"Your Highness, Dama Justinia Ferox, my aide – Justinia, this is Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen – he'll be staying with us for a little while."

Kay didn't mangle the pronunciation too badly, I thought – far less than many other humans who claimed to be able to converse in Sindarin. The other woman, with a pure military gesture, clicked her heels together and gave me a short, respectful bow, the questions that were clearly assailing her from within being soundly repressed. 

-----Kay---

I suppose our maps could work together – if you ignore some little things about where the sun rises and sets, for example, or if you're prepared to accept that rivers simply vanish in mid flow. 

The maps used by the locals helped a little, though not much. Evidently, these were people for whom scale was not a priority, and use of a compass was clearly an optional frivolity. We were able to establish that he had likely been brought in through the only major road that intersected his hand-drawn efforts (quite good, actually – better than I could do off the top of my head  – but then again, as far as my sense of spatial relations go, I'm hard pressed to find my way back from a night out in the city. I have aides for a reason, you know), which crossed west-east into the north-western corner of Udirea. 

We had a starting point, I supposed. With reports flooding in daily about additional surrenders and petty warlords all wanting to come and pledge allegiance to the Diadem, it was fairly obvious that, at least for convenience's sake, we would have to move further into the country, even as far as the old capital. I shuddered. I was not looking forward to being in charge of this wasteland, though it was rapidly becoming clear that there was no realistic alternative. It wasn't simply because I despised the oily fawning and cringing that inevitably came my way, but because I had no real experience at civilian administration. Like many younger, 'spare' daughters, I had been trained for the military, and any exposure I had previously had with administration had been in such a context. Should the occasion demand it, I could organise supplies, take care of sanitary arrangements, even set up a fully-equipped field hospital, but that was a far cry from all the additional problems that were part and parcel of the wider world. It wasn't a question of just scaling up, either – for even my comparatively small force here was several times larger than the population of most of the towns in this part of the world. I had previously envisaged a very short-term, ad-hoc operation here, before I would gratefully hand over control of this newest province to people who knew what they were doing and head back home for a decent bath. That was looking increasingly unlikely as time passed. 

I had been on diplomatic missions before, but I had always had experienced advisors on hand, effectively telling me exactly what to do. Doing this sort of thing alone – much less as the effective head of the interim administration of this despicable place – was not something that I relished. I felt as though I had been cast adrift – well, as much adrift as possible, with secure communication lines and a very loosely worded Imperial Warrant from my sister, basically authorizing me to do whatever I liked - so long as it didn't cost _too_ much.   

It's good when you get along with your relatives, and understand each other – in our case, I understand that Ris could have me killed whenever she likes, but she won't – because that would mean civil war, and my sister loves this land far too much for that. She understands that I could take the Diadem any time I like with a relative minimum of fuss – but I won't – because I'm more intelligent that I am ambitious. 

Oh, and it's because we actually like each other too – but I doubt that sweet sentiment would get in the way if some drastic action needed to be taken. 

As far as that sort of thing goes, our younger brother is well out of the picture, taken care of quite cleverly, legally speaking, but mainly by his very own sensible nature. I miss him very much, but he's far happier and, more to the point, safer where he is, a barbarian King well beyond the borders of civilization, another one of our family who has free reign to do whatever he likes, though, again, Rislyn would prefer it if he didn't make quite so many requests to the Treasury…

I wasn't completely satisfied with the information we had at hand, not yet, though I hoped that the scouts and cartographers would manage to do their work with something approximately speed, so that we would have some idea what we were doing and where we were going. 

Where Legolas was going, for a start. I supposed I could put him with Saro – who had the room next door to mine (Saro was my only male personal aide), where, furthermore, there was a spare bed (Saro being the only person, except for myself, who had anything approaching privacy in this place). Justinia and Lara, my two other personal aides, shared the room across the hall, and I had put my secretary, Rose, in a hastily-emptied linen cupboard (we took out the shelves, naturally). The fort was seriously cramped for space, with even my senior officers forced to double up in makeshift quarters – though those rooms in were in the guards' barracks proper, and a good deal larger than the ones my aides and personal staff were dealing with. I had a feeling that Lara and Justinia were reliving their days at the Knights' Academy junior school, with its tiny accommodations, where it was impossible for both inhabitants to stand up at the same time and still be able to open the door. Now that I was going to boot Legolas next door to Saro, I was the only person left with a private room that was somewhat large enough to swing a proverbial cat in. Not that I would actually do that to a cat, of course. 

I sighed and looked back at the papers scattered across my makeshift desk. 

This was going to get worse. I just knew it. 

For those who are also reading my other stories (Thank you!), this story takes place in the Imperial Year 2820. Kay is just shy of her twenty-fourth birthday. Legolas is…oh, you figure it out, everyone seems to have a different opinion, and I've seen estimates of anywhere between 35 and 3500 out there. I'm more of the 'about the same age as Lord Elrond's kids' school, mainly because I'm a big fan of all the 'little-Legolas-getting-into-heaps-of-trouble-with-Elladan-and-Elrohir' stories.   At any rate, this is just after ROTK, but probably before Frodo, Gandalf, Elrond and such high-tail it off to Valinor – mainly because I want as many characters around as possible. Any votes for making this even more AU than it is already and resurrecting Boromir and other deceased characters? Come to think of it, an enormous Empire with practically unlimited resources (no matter what Ris thinks) and a huge army would qualify as a 'shadow in the East', wouldn't it? Who needs Sauron when you have a slightly harried, perfectionist, Empress with PMS? (does anyone want to know why none of female characters except for Ris have PMS or mood swings? Does anyone care? No, it's not because she's more stressed than they are)  Wonder how Rislyn would react to Sauron and his rings… "Gold is seriously overvalued in the present market…hmmm…platinum is the better investment in the current metals sector…but I've always thought that commercial property had more tax advantages…oh excuse me, I have to amend that provision in the new legislation…so ah…no thanks, why don't you try the King of Angmar, he's such a pest… "


	4. Hairbrushes and Heredity

Rislyn is one of the very few female characters who gets anything even remotely resembling PMS because she's the only one who actually goes through necessary precondition (or post-condition, rather) of it. The others are all on some sort of contraceptive that suppresses that particular bodily function, and, furthermore, female knights in general probably don't even have enough body fat to be fertile in any case (though they don't want to test that one out). 

_Thank you for all the reviews everyone! I hope I'm not committing too many travesties to Middle Earth, and hopefully I'm not contradicting my previous stories too much (why do fantasy authors always have to put their nice, convenient, mysterious neighbours to the east? While I can fit them in neatly enough in the individual stories, it's when they all want to interact that everything goes quite messily to pieces). _

I imagine Kay's reaction (once this all sinks in) to having Legolas as a guest is a bit like having, say, King Arthur dropping in for afternoon tea and a chat. Basically, while Elves are part of the mythology and oral histories of Kay's people, sensible, practical, down-to-earth girls like her don't really believe in them…until they get one as a present…

_For those people reading my other stories, especially 'Memoirs' on Fictionpress.net, I hope the distinction between Kay and Radanae (my other favourite female narrator) is clear enough – I've tried to make them very different, personality-wise, but with enough similarity in outlook and the way they 'speak' to convey that they've had the same sort of upbringing and education, and come from the same sort of background. _

Hairbrushes and Heredity 

---Legolas---

There was a pile of clothes on the narrow bed by the window, neatly folded. They were slightly wrinkled, as though they had travelled bundled up in someone's saddlebags and so developed permanent creases, but they were freshly clean and there had been some attempts to put them to rights with an iron. I could even see faint scorch marks on a few of the shirts. My guide – and now, my roommate, I supposed – was the youngish, dark-haired man Kay called 'Saro', who seemed a trifle uneasy around my presence. He had shown me to this room, next door to the princess's, and left me to change in private after indicating that he had in fact organised clothing for me, as per Kay's orders. 

He had clearly gathered the clothing from several different sources, evidenced by the subtly different cut and colour scheme of each item – probably made to specifically to suit the real owners - but they all fitted me well enough. A touch of the cloth and leather was enough to tell me that it was all of the highest quality, despite the careless laundering, and that I was clearly in the company of a very wealthy people. I sat down to lace the boots on – clearly standard issue, for while they were strong and well made, the leather was of a more common sort, though skilfully cured. Saro had outfitted me well, with several complete changes of clothing – even clean underthings, for which I was profoundly grateful – a warm cloak, even belt and gloves. After a brief splash of water from the ewer and basin on top of the otherwise bare side table, and trying to untangle my hair as best I could with my fingers (There had been no comb or brush left with the clothes, and I gathered that the possibility would not have occurred to Saro, who wore his hair cropped close to his head). It was a painful process, but eventually I supposed that I was as presentable as I could be in the current circumstances. 

The view out of the window was uninspiring to say the least, flat lands long cleared of trees, and extending far into the distance. I sighed. For the present, I had little alternative to stay here, with these odd people, but at least they were almost as eager for me to return home as I was. 

----Kay---

"What are you going to do with him?" Rose asked me as she piled the maps up in some sort of arcane manner that only she understood. 

I shrugged. "No idea. Probably keep him here until he works out which way is home, and then send him off." 

"That's all?" she sounded doubtful. "A hostage like that…" he voice trailed off.

"He's not a hostage," I snapped, "and for that I am eternally grateful, for that would certainly add another level of complication to this mess." I scowled at the ever-expanding pile of documentation that Rose had put on my desk for me to sign. It was a mere courtesy. If I didn't get around to it, she'd sign my name on them anyway. She was, after all, rather better at my signature than I was. "As far as the locals are concerned, he's a gift. As far as I'm concerned, he's just a kid who wants to go home."

Rose's look went from doubtful to frank disbelief. "He's about the same age as us, isn't he? You're just going to let him go?"

"I am most likely going to do just that, as soon as he works out where he wants to go." I confirmed. "As for the first – if he is the same sort of Elf as the ones in the old histories and legends – he's probably several hundred times older than us anyway."

"You seem to be taking this all very calmly," Rose gave me another meaningful look. 

"How else am I meant to take it? Believe me, far stranger things happen in this world. I should be grateful that at least he's fairly calm and intelligent and shows no signs of having uncontrollable magical powers or anything like that. All the same, I will be glad when he works out where his people are."

"Do you have any idea?" Rose asked. 

"Strangely, since I didn't even think Elves existed out of legend until, oh, about two hours ago, no. The only surviving written historical reference to Elves in what we call the Empire is in one of the later works of Mireth of Carr. He was also known variously as Mireth the Mad, Mireth the Drunkard, and Mireth the Simple, so you may infer from that the general level of credibility most scholars assign his writings. Even so, all that he says is that the Elves were departing from their lands and heading off somewhere a few thousand years ago. That's all. Oh, and something about them making good wine, but that's it."

Rose gave an exasperated sigh. "I suppose it's not every day one comes across a species thought extinct – much less it gets dumped at your feet as a present.  If I wasn't so exhausted I'd cheer for increased biodiversity."  

Something that had been niggling at the back of my mind suddenly decided to strike me with the force of a battering ram. "I'm…not exactly convinced that Elves _are_ an entirely different species to humans," I said cautiously. 

"Oh?" 

"It appears that a lot of the old legends are true, insofar as Elves existing and all…but remember, one point that always interested me about all those tales of great beings and such was just how many part-breeds you have running around. Every hero and heroine of legend seems to have some sort of mythical parentage…and practically every House claims some immortal ancestor or another…"

"What?" Rose sounded shocked. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Not yours, I don't think – yours is a comparatively new House, though, isn't it?"

"We've been knights for more than three hundred years," Rose informed me stiffly. 

I shook my head. "Barely an eyeblink. I mean the old aristocratic Houses – the ones who were the powerbrokers of the Old Republic, or even the ones who were sovereign Kings and Queens in their own right. Most of them claim descent from one deity or supernatural being or another…what if those old traditions about the sources of all our 'special' abilities and little talents are true? What if some of the noble families _are_ descended from superhuman beings – which _would_ explain why magical gifts and said abilities are so rare outside the nobility – because everyone who does have talent has to have come from one of those families somehow?  They wouldn't be separate species then, would they? The very possibility of crossbreeds would make that impossible – wouldn't that mean we were just inter-related sub-species of some extinct proto-species? Or am I just rambling on because I simply have not been getting enough sleep lately?"

"You've had about twenty hours in the last week," Rose informed me helpfully. It actually felt like less. Much less. Rose looked at me quizzically, "So what are you meant to be?"

"Excuse me?"

"What are the Delmarans meant to be? I mean, you can't get much older when it comes to aristocratic Houses."

"Oh…us? I think we're allegedly part-Siren, or something like that. At any rate, something maritime and predominantly female, which probably explains why there are so few males in the family who survive infancy, and the few that do all seem to turn out insane. Except for my brother, oddly enough. Probably because he doesn't ….that's it! That's why he looks so familiar! How could I be so blind?" I snapped my fingers as a few little things made sense, and then quickly jotted a brief message. "Can you do a couple of copies of this and send it under my personal seal to Rislyn – and possibly Radanae if she's back in the city – and to Uncle Kiraen in Astar? I think this may be the time for a little genealogical detour…oh," I remembered another little detail, one that had almost completely slipped my mind, and went over to my luggage to extract my spare hairbrush and some new, unused, hair ties. "Drop these in to Legolas next door on your way down to the dispatch room, will you? I gather he might appreciate them."  

----Legolas----

The hairbrush was _very_ welcome. 

Note: In the Empire, it's basically only the women in the ruling Delmaran family who wear their hair long – so Kay is probably the only person around who needs a hairbrush, much less has a spares lying around. It's more a tradition that only the Empresses and princesses keep, other female knights long acknowledging the absolute pain it is to keep hair long clean and neat on a battlefront, and so cutting theirs short. 

_To save confusion, this is movie-Legolas, if only so we can all agree on what he looks like (Personally, I think that book-Legolas probably has dark hair and grey eyes, but for the purposes of this story, he's Orlando Bloom with pointy ears, contacts and wig). _


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Note: Kay is fairly musical. She just doesn't have time for hobbies  anymore – though, off duty, she does indulge in other aspects of Sirenish behaviour… for those who have guessed where Kay's ancestry is going, and think there's a little discrepancy considering a minor physical shortcoming of her brother's that I've  mentioned in one of my earlier works – yes, I have remembered, and it will be explained…_

---Kay---

I didn't see much of my guest in the next few days, other than making sure that he was being adequately fed. He seemed content enough to stay in the room next door, and he was kind enough, in the little free time I had, to tell me a little more about his people, and his world. 

It did seem plausible that he was descended from the Elves that Mireth the Mad had mentioned were leaving our lands – or might even have been one of them himself, though the longer I spent with him, the more I doubted it. While it was fairly obvious that he was much, much older than I was (did you know Elves usually reach adulthood somewhere between their fiftieth and a hundredth years?), he was, it seemed, comparatively young for one of his kind. 

He was good company, and Lara, Justinia and Rose seemed to adjust to his presence reasonably well. Saro had a bit more difficulty, spending as little time around Legolas as possible, quite an interesting feat considering that I was making them share a room. That could not be helped in our present situation, for all that I did sympathise with him – because I knew perfectly well the reason he felt uneasy around our guest – and, 

if my suspicions were confirmed, I would know why. 

The resemblance was extraordinary, after all. Pointed ears, luminescent skin and an even more refined facial bone structure and general musculature notwithstanding, of course. 

----Legolas----

Kay was very busy the following few days, preparing to move out. Apparently the people here were so eager to surrender to her that it was going to be easier to move to the old capital, and then through the country, rather than wait for them all to converge upon her in this small town.   

She had given me leave to go where I liked, but that hardly made much difference when I didn't have anywhere to go, or any idea how to get there. While she was kind enough, even though she was clearly very much occupied, to inform me if she managed to get hold of a new map or any information that could point me in the vague direction home (we managed to narrow it down to 'northwest', but not much more than that), such information was frustratingly scant. 

I wondered what was happening back home. How had my father reacted to my absence? I could answer the question almost before I asked it. He would have lost his temper, scared the messenger witless, and then organised search parties to scour all of the Greenwood until the few spiders that remained were all but writing him scathing letters of complaint, much in the same way he had the time – times, rather – when I was a mere Elfling and had simply lost track of time in the woods. Gimli would be most displeased that I had missed our appointment to explore the caves beneath Helm's Deep. While it was one trip I was not exactly enthusiastic about, even the Glittering Caves (I had no idea how Gimli managed to use Capital Letters quite like that), were slightly preferable to being unceremoniously kidnapped, drugged, and dumped beyond the edges of the known world with some seriously odd people.

For they were odd, very odd to my mind. After the first initial flurry, everyone seemed to accept my presence around the fort as though it were perfectly natural for their Princess to be receiving living presents of Elves every day. Well…nearly everyone. Kay treated me like …well, like a princess would treat a visiting royal of approximately the same age and standing, her officers regarded me with a sort of politely restrained curiosity, as though everything their commander did in her private life was entirely her own business, and her female aides and assistants were solicitous in ensuring that I was as comfortable as possible. 

As for the male…apart from the occasional glimpse as he found me more clothes and maps, I saw very little of Saro, who seemed to have moved out of the room to give me more privacy. His attitude was … especially odd…to say the least. I detected no hostility, no resentment, no distaste. Nothing more than a sincere desire to be as far away from me as possible. 

I wasn't quite sure what to think, or what it was about me that discomfited him so. 

It wasn't as though I didn't wash my hair regularly, after all.


	6. Equine Exasperation

Equine Exasperation 

---Kay---

We left that little town not a moment too soon, for my liking, and set off on the road to the capital. I hoped that it would still be intact when we got there. For all my whining, Udirea wasn't really all that uncivilized – there were working sewerage systems in the bigger cities after all – and if there's one thing more tiresome than having to build up a total backwater from scratch, it's cleaning up the remnants of a broken civilization, and then rebuilding from said remnants. 

It costs a lot more too. A proper warrior-princess from the old legends would never have such inanities as finite budgets to think of, much less cleaning up in the aftermath of a messy regime change, but the warrior-princesses of the ballads and tales probably never had to go to bathroom, either. 

I dared a sideways glance at Legolas. I had lent him one of the horses from my string – actually, to tell the truth Tala _insisted_ that she be the one who had the 'honour' of carrying him – and he rode along with the rest of us. I was fairly impressed with how easily everyone – not just my aides bar Saro – had accepted Legolas among us. While nobody believed that I was using him for the purposes that the gift-givers had quite obviously intended (at least, I _hoped_ they had a better impression of my scruples than that – if they did not, I frankly did not want to inquire), they accorded him a somewhat ambiguous status somewhere in between 'private guest' and 'foreign ambassador'. I was pretty sure that very few people actually believed that he wasn't human – I had already overheard whispered speculations from some of my junior officers that clearly indicated that they believed that he came from some culture who cropped their children's ears to give them their distinctive pointed shape. I suppose it was forgivable – believe me, some body-modification procedures I've seen made Legolas's ears and slightly luminescent skin look positively pedestrian – and if it took such delusions for my troops to accept his presence with such equanimity, I was hardly going to contradict them. 

With any luck, the capital, with all the more optimistic of former members of the regime – the ones who had given Legolas to me as a 'present' – would give us a better idea of where they had found him – and where his home was. If he was a prince – and, frankly, I was more inclined to believe him than not – the quicker he was back there the better. I imagined how my mother might have reacted when she was alive if she was confronted with the news that I had gone missing….oh, bad example, she wouldn't have noticed for a month and then used my disappearance as an excuse to do something very nasty to someone or someplace that she was displeased with. My sister then…no, also a very bad example. My brother? Well, it would take months before they finally got around to sending word to that backwater he calls his kingdom, but there really wasn't much he could do….Dad would have been very upset, but, then again, as far as political power went his official position was somewhere below mother's 6th Assistant Undersecretary's 6th Undersecretary's Assistant. At any rate, he died when I was sixteen, so he wouldn't have been of much help anyway.  

Right – how my family _ought_ to react if I went missing. They would be very unhappy and want me back as soon as possible before the political scene at home went up in flames. 

I hope so, at least. 

-----Legolas----

When I had arrived at the main stable yard on the morning of our departure, I found Kay there already, watching her aides run through the last-minute organization. Her 'small' army – small by her standards, apparently, though certainly not my mine – had already started to move out on the road, their initial units and scouts already ranging far ahead on the road north. 

Kay was standing beside an enormous black warhorse stallion, fully eighteen hands high and as black as a Ringwraith's steed – though, of course, rather notably better cared for. His tack was surprisingly plain for a princess's mount, the simple black leather relieved only by the steel of buckles and stirrups, and a red saddle blanket with dark purple piping. 

I imagined that red and purpose must have been the 'official' colours of these people – for the fairly obvious reason that they all wore livery of those hues, even Kay, though, to be frank, neither suited her particularly well. They would have made a dramatic statement in the evening, or in the depths of winter, but in the rather clear light of a spring day they made her fair colouring look a tad washed out. She was dressed in steel mail of the finest quality, washed in silver so that it almost looked like _mithril_, and over it a surcoat of purple, emblazoned with a red triple-headed eagle, the two outer heads each bearing intricate gold embroidery that formed coronets. Her sword and dagger, hanging from a plain white belt, were surprisingly plain for someone of her apparent rank, but it was clear that she knew very well how to use them. I wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to my own weapons. I hoped that they had not been despoiled or broken. 

Kay was holding a plain black leather hackmore in her hands, and the stallion was rather reluctantly shoving his nose into it, and standing with bad grace as she fastened the buckles. 

"Good morning, Legolas," she turned around to face me after adjusting her horse's tack to satisfaction. The black stallion shook himself vigorously before peering around his mistress's shoulder to give me an appraising look. I wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but I seemed to pass muster as he snorted at Kay. "Yes, yes," she laughed, rubbing the large black nose, "this is Nightwraith," she introduced the stallion. She made a clicking sound with her tongue, and held out her hand, as a tall,  lightly-built grey mare trotted towards us. "This is Tala," she patted the newcomer. "I've taken the liberty of having your clothes stowed in her saddlebags." She nodded at the plain leather bags behind the mare's saddle. "If you like, you may ride her."

Tala was quite obviously out of Kay's private string of horses, and, as such, a rather spectacular animal. She put even my beloved Arod to shame (I hoped that he managed to make it away after I was caught), and came very close to a _Meara_. I requested the removal of her bridle, though it was a simple snaffle ring, quite unlike the elaborate ironworks that the Gondorians insisted on using on their horses. There was no way to remove the saddle without also dislodging the saddlebags, so we retained it – though, truth be told, after only Valar-know-how-long I had spent weak and drugged, I was no longer sure if I could mount without the use of stirrups. 

Kay seemed utterly unsurprised at my request to remove some of Tala's tack, and made little reaction save to shove the leather straps into the hands of a passing stablehand – then calling the girl back again as Nightwraith made very clear, with vigorous head-shaking, snorts, and stamping, that if Tala didn't have to wear a bridle, _he_ wasn't going to wear his hackmore either.  Kay sighed and unbuckled the hackmore, to be bundled away with Tala's bridal. 

Nightwraith shot her a rather triumphant look before she sprang up into the saddle. 

She didn't use her stirrups. I made a small resolution to build up my strength as quickly as possible. 

----Kay---

The only problem with being able to hold conversations with your horse is the amount of backchat you get. 


	7. The Really Long Chapter

THE LONG CHAPTER

---Legolas----

We got to the capital, in the far northwest, with a minimum of trouble. The locals tended to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible during the progress of the fearsomely well armed and numerous host. I was quite pleasantly surprised at the rigid discipline that Kay and her officers maintained. There was nothing taken from the locals that they could not spare, and that was not fairly paid for in true coin. No crops were despoiled, no livestock were run off for amusement, no locals were harassed. While my father, and Aragorn, and Eomer all had similarly well-trained personal troops, they were also dealing with a much smaller scale than Kay was – and even then, I had heard that there were several members of their armies who had indulged in rather dishonourable behaviour during the War of the Ring. 

We were met  by fawning representatives of the 'provisional government' – the self-same people who had 'gifted' me to Kay – and escorted to the old Royal Palace. Kay had evidently sent troops ahead, for the huge structure had clearly been all but taken apart and inspected by her fanatically loyal troops, from cellar to turret, before she so much as set a toe inside. Even though Kay had left substantial garrisons at various towns, all within easy reach of each other, on the way here, she still had a very large force that nobody sane was going to reckon with her bodyguard. 

On the other hand, sanity appeared to be a quality in very short supply regardless of location. 

We took up residence in the Old Palace – Kay was in the King's apartment, where, barely acknowledging the smirks of the 'provisional government', I was also housed - together with her aides and a rather baffling number of assorted assistants. Kay's more senior officers were quartered in the apartments of sundry high officials and Consorts, with their assistants. The rest of her soldiers were quartered in the Palace, the guards' barracks, and in various places around the city. 

The city was quiet, like the rest of the country had been. It was almost as though everyone had decided to give Kay and her invasion force the benefit of the doubt, that she couldn't possibly do a worse job than their former rulers. 

It was an odd thought. 

Not everything was so pleasant, though. Kay was clearly very busy in establishing a real government, with or without the former members of the establishment who were so eager to curry her favour. She still found time to go over new maps with me, and though we had a little more luck (we found what looked like the sea of Rhun, the Iron Hills, and quite possibly the River Running on one – not too far from the capital, I was excited to note – then again, Kay had been the one to observe that they had a distinctly casual attitude towards accurate scale. I gathered that annoyed her somewhat). She promised that we were going to head out there as soon as she had finalized arrangements in the capital. 

For a little while, it all looked good – Kay was quite obviously as eager to finish with the diplomatic wrangling as I was eager to get home, and it seemed a poor repayment for her kindness and generosity if I simply snuck out one evening. 

Besides, it was still a dangerous place – and, even if she was so kind as to give me Tala (I didn't want to ask – such a horse was clearly very expensive, even for a princess) – I still didn't feel comfortable asking her for weapons – nor would I have taken them from the armoury, or even her personal stores (which were seriously expansive, believe me). 

Actually, that little problem was solved very easily, though not how I would have liked. 

I had free rein to do whatever I liked. Kay and her aides were busy, and, apart from occasional chats to Kay regarding getting me back home, and the ever-inconspicuous Saro leaving me clothes (after making several good guesses about the things that fitted me best, he had obviously gone to the tailors and bootmakers who travelled with the company for more things for me – evidently, he was conscientious about his duties – just so long as he was as far away from me as possible), I was left pretty much alone by Kay's people. 

Unfortunately, my previous hosts were nowhere near as reticent. 

"How pleasant that you've settled in so well, pretty one." I froze, cursing myself for my inattentiveness. Springtime was just coming, and I had been leaning over a balcony railing, casting my eyes at the forest just outside the city walls, stretching to the horizon. I liked to imagine that I could see Rhun, and beyond it the Greenwood – but my imagination wasn't quite that good. 

It was the oily man who now called himself the 'Lord Protector' of the province, and fully expected to be appointed Governor by Kay when she left. I knew that he was in for a nasty surprise, though, for not only did Kay mention that she didn't actually _have_ the power to appoint a Governor – she had also sent back to her home for an 'interim administrator' to run the more mundane matters of the country while arrangements for a permanently appointed Imperial Governor were made, and preparations for the people of the country _themselves_ to chose representatives to advise the Governor. 

What Kay called 'democracy' did sound very nice. I just didn't think that it sounded like a workable system. 

"I hope that her Highness has treated you well?' he continued, insinuating all sorts of rather unwelcome things. I was more indignant on Kay's behalf than my own, for she had been nothing but courteous and kind to me. There had been, surprisingly, no hint of anything of that nature from her, or any of her people. I wondered if I should be insulted. It was rather disconcerting to be around all those young men and women, in the 'springtime of their years' as Elrohir Peredhil would say (after _far_ too many bottles filched from my father's cellar), who didn't so much as _flirt_. I wondered if it was just because they were all clearly consummate professional soldiers. If not, I wondered how their people had managed to breed in such huge numbers.  

I wasn't sure what I should do in the circumstances. I was unarmed – though that was no impediment – and I was unaware whether there might be any consequences if I grabbed him and threw him over the balcony, as I so desperately wished to do. If Kay needed him, it would be a very poor way to repay her hospitality, no matter how much I might be tempted. 

"A pity, that something so beautiful should be…"

"Oh, there you are, Legolas," Kay came around the corner, looking as unruffled as usual. "Lord Vair," she said coldly. 

"Your Highness," he grovelled, "Might I express just how pleased I am that…"

"Prince Legolas is my guest," she said pleasantly, and gave a cold smile as he blanched at the mention of my title, "I do hope that you are not disturbing him?"

"Ah…no….just…a….chat. Your pardon, Highness…es" he added the plural belatedly, with a sideways glance at me, "I have suddenly remember a most pressing appointment. Excuse me." 

With that, he took off in a swirl of garish orange robes. 

Kay watched him go. 

"You know, I don't mind if you harm that sort," she told me conversationally, "it would make negotiations marginally more bearable. Just not on the carpet, please – it's rather nice, and I'd like to send a few samples back to see if it's worthwhile setting up trading facilities here."

How she said all that with a straight face I had no idea. 

"But that reminds me of something I've been meaning to do for a while. The situation's still too unstable here for you to be wandering around unarmed. Since I gather you won't appreciate it if I have hordes of bodyguards following you around, we'd better get you some steel. Do you have any preferences? I assume you're an archer by choice, but a bow is a fairly inefficient short-range weapon unless you hit people with it, and that's just a waste of a good bow."

I gaped. 

She chuckled at my expression. "I'm a military commander - I'd be a very poor one if I couldn't spot which weapons a warrior prefers by their build – especially if they've been using said weapons for ten thousand years or so." Her eyes twinkled. 

Good grief, did I really look that old? 

"Come with me. I have some things you might like to use."

I trailed after her, feeling as though I'd just been run over by a Nazgul. I imagined that was how a lot of people felt around her. "Kay…why are you…"

"Legolas, if you were going to physically harm me – or anyone I actually care about, for that matter – you would have done it already. You've been sleeping in the room next to mine for weeks. I have a veritable armoury in my room, which you're perfectly aware of. Saro had a veritable armoury in the room you were sharing with him down south. In fact, there's enough weaponry to outfit a small army lying around in various states of cleanliness all over the common room most of the time. If you were going to slit my throat in the dark, you would have done it already.' She repeated. "Besides," she added thoughtfully, "if I couldn't defend myself against most attackers, I really shouldn't have chosen this career." 

I had to admit that she was right. Both about the likelihood of me killing her, and the sheer amount of steel floating around the place. We had reached her room in the former royal suite, and she went directly over to a large chest, opening it and bringing out a pair of daggers. 

They were heavier than my knives, and broader, though they were about the same length. The pommels were inlaid with small enamelled disks that bore a dancing golden panther on a blue background. They seemed to be cast completely out of steel, the grips bound in leather rather than wood, the blades etched with abstract free-flowing designs. 

I hefted one experimentally. They were perfectly balanced, very well cared for, and made of the highest quality materials. Their sheaths were made of plain black leather, lined with lambswool. 

"They're beautiful," I told Kay honestly. 

"Thank you," she replied, closing the lid of the large trunk – which I now saw was completely full of such sharp metal objects, of various shapes, sizes, and weights. "You can keep them, if you like."

I stared, aghast. "I can't…Kay, you've already given me so much…"

"Legolas," she shook her head, "keep them – if you won't accept them as a personal gift, think of them as a formal diplomatic present from an Imperial Princess to the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen." 

"I…I don't know what to say."

"'Thanks' will do." She suggested. 

"Then…thank you." 

----Kay---

To be completely honest, I was rather disappointed in 'Lord' Vair (I was looking forward to informing him that, strictly speaking, there was no such title in the Empire), and for more than the obvious reasons. We had been settled in the Palace for about a week before he finally got around to bothering Legolas, which was rather annoying. I was rapidly running out of polite excuses to refuse to see him – he professed full ignorance of where Legolas had come from, just that his agents had procured a 'tasteful little gift' for me, and that he did not question such things – and since there were no other questions I wanted to ask him, I threw him out of the room as politely as I could. 

I should have detained him for attempted bribery rather than just have Justinia let him off with a warning (you haven't been truly warned unless and until that girl does it). 

Apparently, since he had apparently designated himself the 'Lord Protector', he fully expected me to acquiesce to have him run the country as a virtual dictator, saving me from the 'bother' of appointing someone decent. 

The only dictator permitted in the Empire happens to be my sister. Much as I love her, _one _of Ris is enough for any nation-state to suffer. 

I did not bother informing Vair or his cronies that an administrator was already on the way – I had a fairly good idea who that would be, though Ris had not specifically mentioned a name in our correspondence, and I looked forward to seeing her. While Ris and I could have spoken face-to-face (in a manner of speaking) about the matter, the situation was neither important nor drastic enough for either of us to expend the effort and energy required for a magical communication over such a distance. Ris didn't like using her magical powers unless she had no other choice – a view that I agree with. She tended to make people nervous as it is, through no fault of her own. 

I imagine that people would feel far less easy in her company if they knew that she could flatten half the capital at a thought – and the amount of magical power that one needed to communicate directly between Bersone and this place wasn't very much less than that. 

That day, I had been coming back from an inspection of the city's main aqueduct (they never said that was part of a warrior-princess's job), when I was met by Saro, who informed me that Lord Vair was hovering around the Palace, looking for Legolas.  

While we had all anticipated this, Saro was still clearly in two minds as to whether to go up and interrupt. I understood where Saro was coming from in his studied avoidance of the Elf – though, the more time that I spent with Legolas, the more I was convinced that if Saro did the same, it would be easier, rather than harder for him. After a time, it was obvious that Legolas really didn't look _all_ that similar to my cousin Vasilli. Both were stunningly gorgeous, and had roughly similar colouring (Vas was slightly darker), but that was about it, really. Their personalities were completely different, and even the way that they moved was completely different. 

Then again, Vas had only been my cousin, and by the time that I'd seen his body, he had already been cleaned up and laid in state (it's none of your business what I was doing that I couldn't get there before he was cleaned up – suffice to say, until that little piece of information came through, I had been having a very enjoyable evening). 

Vas had been Saro's lover, and Vas had died in Saro's arms only a few months ago. 

That would give one a different perspective, somewhat. 

I was rather disappointed that Vair was not saying anything that was more than ordinarily unwelcome when I reached the corridor that Legolas had been given to haunting of late. I felt a little stab of guilt, as, two days ago, we had found some landmarks on an old map that he had recognised, and I had promised that we would ride out in that direction soon. I wouldn't have managed to be so calm if I found information that stated I was near home after being away for an unknown period of time. 

I paused before turning the corner. Others I know – Rislyn, say, -would have waited until Vair said something a little more insulting. After that – the ideal situation, as far as she would see it, would be if Legolas took matters into his own hands, and did some serious harm to the oily poser. Even if Legolas controlled himself (and I had no idea how far the bounds of Elvish patience stretched), she would still use the insult as an excuse to do something nasty to Vair herself. For her that would be the second option – if only because she's ridiculously vain and won't ruin perfectly good clothes by murdering people unless it's necessary – both the ruining of the clothes _and_ the murder, that is. 

But I am not my sister – an event that I'm grateful for, no matter how much I like her. From the reflection in the bubbly glass, I could see Legolas trying to remain serene – perhaps thinking, that out of courtesy, he shouldn't take action in case Vair was actually useful to me. I briefly pondered if there was some way of telling Legolas that it would be easiest for all concerned if he DID hurt Vair. The former court cockroach was not so well-loved or supported that anyone would kick up a fuss, and it saved us the trouble of removing him, as well as providing me with an excuse to get out of the city on the grounds of removing Legolas from the vicinity. 

It didn't look as though Legolas was going to co-operate. I sighed. Never mind, tempting as it would have been to pummel Vair into the ground, I had certain guidelines regarding my conduct that I should adhere to, if only to provide a good example to the troops. A wicked streak prompted me to refer to Legolas by title, and I was rewarded when Vair blanched. Evidently, however and whenever he had managed to get hold of Legolas, he hadn't managed to discern the Elf's identity beyond his apparent suitability as a plaything for me (for the record, I don't particularly like blondes for that sort of activity – it's like looking into a mirror, and something I feel a tad uneasy about). 

Vair scuttled off, apparently considering the dire situation in which he imagined himself. I didn't know which one I would have preferred more – that Legolas and I had some sort of alliance due to the titles in front of our names, and that Legolas had somehow convinced me to deprive Vair of the position he sought (which I had already decided to do – without Legolas), or that Legolas's subjects might just notice that their Prince was missing and come looking for him. With weapons. 

It was on that little observation that I realized that Legolas didn't have any – weapons, not subjects. While I assumed that unarmed combat was no problem for him (one doesn't get muscles like that from sitting around doing embroidery, after all), he really ought to have something with him, if only for show. 

On a purely selfish note, I finally found a graceful way to get rid of the daggers that one of my mothers' friends had given to me for my birthday. They were of too high quality for the frugal warrior in me to throw out, and yet, since they had my personal emblem (as opposed to my Eagle as Heir) on them, they were a bit hard to give away without it being obvious. I was originally going to say that they were a sort of 'permanent loan', but, unfortunately, twenty-odd years of diplomatic training ambushed me, and they ended up being rather poor excuses for official presents.  

I hate it when that happens. 

----Legolas----

There was a noise in the common room of the former King's suite, like a large bird flying through the window and landing heavily on the floor. That was odd. It was very late at night, and I was fairly sure that owls, even if they were inclined to fly towards such densely populated areas, would not be anywhere near loud or clumsy enough to make such a thud. 

 I opened the door to see a young man standing in the outer room, dusting himself off. I gaped, and not just because there was no possible way he could have arrived there unannounced, other than flying through the window – because – for an instant – it was like seeing myself reflected in a mirror. It was for that instant only, of course, the first, initial impression – which was probably due to spending so much time away from my kind that I was immediately drawn to even the slightest resemblance. While the people here were as varied in type as a litter of mongrel puppies, fair-complexioned blondes like Kay – and this young man - seemed to be very rare. 

 While he did give the initial impression of Elf-kind – I would not be at all surprised if he had some Elven heritage – easily as much as Prince Imrahil or Aragorn – King Elessar, I should say – a second glance confirmed that he was, in fact, quite clearly human. 

For a start, his ears were rounded, – and his proportions, though lean and slender by human standards, were still more bulky than most Elves, facial planes that initially seemed refined inevitably coarsened by his human heritage. He was tall for a human, though only about average height for an Elf, fair-haired, though his close-shorn hair was a few shades darker than mine, and he was a good deal more dirty, grubby, and dishevelled than I ever allowed myself to become. 

He caught sight of me then, but did not have the time to raise more than an questioning eyebrow before a door opened and Kay stepped out. A ridiculous part of my mind noticed that her hair was damp, and slightly frizzy. She was holding a hairbrush in one hand.  

"Harry!" she sounded surprised, but not unpleasantly so, "you've made much better time than I'd expected."

He snorted, "You're not the only one who can cheat when they travel, cousin," his voice was a light tenor, "besides, I think my parents just wanted me out of the house," he inclined his head towards me with a slight cough. 

Kay turned to face me, "Oh," she stepped aside so that we had a clear view of each other, "Your Highness, might I introduce my cousin, Sir Haraldr Astenovsky. Harry, His Highness Prince Legolas Thranduilion of Eryn Lasgalen."

'Harry', gave me a slight bow. There was a definite family resemblance between them, but the young man had a hauntingly familiar refinement of feature and a sort of boneless grace that seemed inborn, rather than carefully trained, the way the princess's own elegance was. 

My confusion must have shown, for Harry smiled at me, while giving me that distinctive look of intellectual inquisitiveness and curiosity before he turned back to his cousin. "I see now why you asked. The answer's 'yes' by the way – and of more recent origin than your Sirenish, nymphish or whatever heritage on your other side – only a couple of thousand years ago or so. I've got a few rather sub-standard copies of the relevant bits of  the family 'stud book' if you like. Of course, it shows up more in Iri and me than it does in you – because Mama's from the same sort of stock too. Apparently, the four of us are throwbacks to that line. You'll remember that Olly even had the ears."

I had no idea what they were talking about, until the last word. "Ears?' I asked.

"My older brother," Harry explained, "he died about four years ago. He had slightly pointed ears. Very rare, but it happens occasionally, and nobody knows why. Nothing else appears to be passed on – most notably the lifespan." He paused, and turned back to his cousin. He appeared to be several years younger than Kay, only barely into adulthood – though such things are incredibly difficult to tell in humans. "Did you know, with Vas going two months ago, the family life expectancy just dropped to an all-time low? We're down to an average of twenty eight years and a hundred and seventy-eight days." 

My mind finally started working, and I realized that Harry was making reference to faint Elvish blood in his veins. Kay's veins. The veins of Valar only know how many people in this part of the world. 

For some reason, it was somewhat of an anticlimax. I must have been short on sleep. 

Not that I _actually_ sleep. 

I had been around humans for _far_ too long. It was just like the Fellowship, only without the evil ring, the perpetually hungry hobbits and the belligerent dwarf. 

Gimli may very well be my friend, but that doesn't mean I'm blind to his faults. 

At least _these_ humans placed a slightly higher priority on cleanliness than Boromir or Aragorn did.

---Kay---

I hadn't expected Harry – or anyone else, for that matter – to come up personally, much less in such a short space of time. Or when I was washing my hair, either. 

Not that I was unhappy to see him – far from it. Harry was a great kid, one of my favourite cousins – I was lucky in that I actually liked, and got along with the majority of my relatives, on both sides of the family. Considering that they're all intelligent, very good with swords, and can all light candles by looking at them, it's a good thing for all concerned. Harry was four years younger than me, and quite well adjusted, considering that he had managed to get from 'third son' to 'heir apparent' to one of the richest noble families in the Empire (my father had been his father's younger brother), through the deaths of his two elder brothers – Oleksandre, a year younger than me, had died at the age of eighteen from an arrow to the gut – while Vasilli, two years older than me, died only a few months ago in circumstances that didn't really bear thinking about. My father's family was one of the few patriarchal knightly Houses, so it meant that Harry was now the family heir, and not his younger sister Iriwé, who had just turned eighteen. 

It had been the extraordinary resemblance between my cousins and Legolas that had brought me to question certain little details about my own ancestry. While most of the older families claim to be descended from deities, immortals, non-humans, or any combination of the above (and, after so many centuries, it is a 'combination' for most of us) nobody really believes it, and we tend to simply gloss over the origins of our 'special powers', more concerned with using them effectively. 

I was seriously evaluating my belief system. But please don't tell the people chanting and handing out religious pamphlets on the main shopping streets back home. Please. 

Fine. So I was part Elf. It made more sense than most of my life did, anyway. 

Pity none of us got the 'immortal' part of the Immortal ancestry. Then I'd finally have time to sit down and actually do some reading I've been meaning to catch up on since my final year at the Academy. 

I frowned at him. "How did you make such good time?" I asked. It hadn't been all that long since I sent the letters off, and even though he had the ability to 'cheat' as we called it (and no, that ability wasn't from the Elvish blood – we knew where that special ability came from, and it was an entirely different part of his heritage that was more commonly known), there still hadn't been enough time for the letters to arrive at the family seat in Astar, for the letters to get to Rislyn in the capital, for Ris to give him permission to extend his leave and visit me. Permission was required for Harry, both as a knight requesting indefinite leave, and, as a Changing Talent, he was only marginally less precious and valuable to her than a Healer. Both he and Iri could Change, but, oddly enough, neither Vas nor Olly had been possessed of that skill (usually it's an all-of-nothing thing among sibs, the way it is with Ris, Yevgen and myself), though they had both possessed extremely strong magical talents – though, clearly, not quite powerful enough, or appropriate for the predicaments they eventually found themselves in. Of course, even with the ability to sprout wings, it would have taken him more time to get up here. 

He shrugged. "Good wind currents – they did most of the work," he told me in a matter of fact manner. "I crossed over into Harad and flew over Khand and Rhun before turning back east. Less turbulence." 

"Where?" I had never heard those names before, but any opportunity I had to think was drowned out by Legolas yelping "What?" in a most undignified manner.

Harry looked at both of us, unsure who to answer first. Evidently, he had a better-the-demon-you-know attitude, for he turned to me first. "Bysaeli, Deru and the empty space above Deru, Kay. You know perfectly well that I prefer to refer to locations by the same names that the locals like to use, if I can pronounce them, not the ones that one learns from the official maps. It makes much more sense. Not that Bysaeli, Deru and so on _are_ on the official maps anymore, nor were they of much interest to the power-players in the capital when they were, though they've always been an exclusive sphere of influence for us from Astar. However, we cut off relations and sealed the border about seventy or eighty years ago – not that we really ever _had_ relations - when all the seriously strange stuff started happening around there, and troops and resources started to move north." 

He faced Legolas. "Some countries just to the west of here – not very far." 

The Elf still looked stunned. Giving myself a mental slap, I remembered that a few days ago, he had all but been jumping with excitement at finding the '_Sea_ of Rhun' on a rather dog-eared map. Clearly, he, at least knew what the empty space above Deru was, and how to get to his home from there.

We were finally getting somewhere substantial. 

It seemed so…easy. Too easy. Harry could simply reel off the distances between here and Rhun, perhaps even sketch a map, and Legolas could go, perhaps even as soon as the morning, to find his people. 

That didn't sound very dramatic. In the back of my mind, I had anticipated…well…something more – romantic. Where were the friends and lovers searching for him? Where was the time limit he had for getting home? Where were the assassins after him? Oily Lord Vair and his dirty mind hardly counted as anything more than an annoyance. While Legolas might disagree with me – he, after all, had been the one evidently drugged, kidnapped and dumped at my feet – I had the rather sinking feeling that things had been coming along so swimmingly that things were about to go to pieces.  

----Legolas---

For a second, I was so stunned that I was frozen in place. This boy knew where Harad was? Where Rhun was? That it wasn't far away, and the maps had not been so drastically wrong? It was astounding, revealing, and incredibly wonderful. I could go home. I was so wrapped up in the news that it took a little while to process the other things Harry had said.

"You said you…flew…" I asked him doubtfully.

"Oh yes, I did. Fastest way to get here," at a nod from Kay, he had collapsed onto the couch in the middle of the room, dropping a small satchel onto the ground. He travelled very lightly, I noted, with a swiftly-growing-hysterical part of my mind. "I don't recommend it. I think my arms are about to fall off."

"Excuse me…ah…" I wasn't quite sure what I was hearing.

"Kay, you'll have to give a demonstration," Harry opened his eyes, though he was clearly about to drop off to sleep. "I'm so exhausted I doubt I could Change into a chimpanzee."

I turned to Kay. 

She shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing special – just ShapeChanging – I'm sure you've seen it before. You probably call it something else, that's all." 

'Kay' vanished, and in her place a very large golden panther stood on the wooden floor, tail twitching and still looking at me with that level ink-blue gaze. The puma was there for barely a minute, before Kay reappeared again. She still had the hairbrush, though where it had gone while she was a panther I did not want to inquire. 

No, I had _not_ seen it before, and I did _not_ know any other names for it. Wherever this little talent had come from, it certainly did not come from the Elf-blood of Kay and her now-slumbering cousin. 

"Harry, wake up a little, will you?" Kay nudged the young man – boy, rather. She belatedly remembered the hairbrush in one hand and put it down. "You'll wake up with cramps if you sleep all curled up like that."

"Sorry," he untangled himself and sat up, giving the two of us an apologetic grin, "I'm not usually this rude," he informed me, "just no food and no sleep for the last few days." 

Kay looked scandalized. "The food I can remedy," she said sternly, "but as for the latter, you'll have to wait until you update these pathetic excuses for maps." With that, she got up and knocked on another of the doors, and made her small secretary – Rose was her name, I think – go down to the kitchens for a midnight snack. I had long since learned that an indispensable part of military life for these people was a twenty-four hour supply of food. I think that the hobbits would have approved of _this_ army. As she returned to the couch, she gathered up the pile of maps that had so frustrated us since I had been unceremoniously dumped at her feet. 

Harry looked over them all with a slightly dismissive air. I suppose that if you can change into a bird and see all of the land, any representation made by the land-bound seems inevitably inaccurate. Then again – _Kay_ could quite obviously shapechange too. Why had she not thought of it? 

"You know I have trouble with flying and birds," Kay was telling her cousin, who had evidently asked just that question. She sounded irritated. "I don't know whether it's because of the strain of flying, or the necessary physical limitations of a bird's physiology, but I always pass out for days afterwards and then I wake up with an awful migraine. I couldn't afford the time to do it." She paused. "While _you_ may function very well on a bird's diminished brain capacity, _I_ can't." 

Harry just smirked. I gathered that it was a long-running bone of contention between them – Kay's biting remarks not quite covering her own frustration that she couldn't fly, or change into a bird, as easily as he could. I tried to imagine what it might be like, to soar above the clouds – and, evidently, to travel great distances at speed. 

The rest of the night was spent consolidating the maps, at least until Harry pled utter exhaustion. We put him in my room – after all, _I_ didn't need to sleep – and Kay and I continued planning my journey home. Kay was reluctant to go beyond the former borders of Udirea – she had no authority to do so, she said, and any move in that direction would be interpreted as an unauthorized invasion of Rhun, which would not be desirable from a military standpoint for the Empire, and even less desirable from a personal political standpoint for her. Reading between the lines, I gathered that if she did so, it would be interpreted back in her home as something very close to treason. 

According to Harry, the Sea of Rhun was only a little further to the west than the limits of the maps of the Udireans. From there, I would head west until I found the Celduin, and then head upriver back home. It seemed to be an easy proposition, especially after Kay told me that I was taking Tala. 

Plans set, the rest of the night (morning, rather) was spent going over the more trivial information that Harry had brought. As I had expected (by now), they were descended from the Avari Elves who had refused the Call to Valinor at the beginning of days. I, like many of my kindred, had wondered what had become of them. I still wondered, of course. Kay had no idea – whatever Elvish influence in her ancestry, came, as far as she was concerned, from the blood she shared with her cousin. To Kay (prior to my appearance, of course), Elves occupied that indistinct place between pre-history and legend, creatures who lived long ago and had been distorted and exaggerated in millennia-worth of tales. 

Their family was reputedly begun by an Elf, some two thousand years ago, who wed a mortal woman and founded a kingdom - who, after her death, simply handed over power to their son and rode away towards the west, never to return. I told Kay that it was entirely possible that they – and she – were quite possibly 'immortal' in the technical sense. There was no way to tell, however. Every member of the family seemed to manage to get themselves killed rather violently, usually at an age where a full-blooded Elf would still be playing with wooden soldiers and carrying a stuffed dog around, so immortality seemed a moot point. Kay conceded that the most recent entries, Harry's older brothers, had died at eighteen and twenty-five, and both, I gathered, in circumstances that would have killed an Elf too – though she seemed very reticent on the subject of the most recent death, only that it was 'unpleasant'. 

The family histories were silent as to the eventual fate of their Elven founder, but I liked to imagine that he found kindred and peace, and did not pine away for the mortal woman. I didn't tell Kay that, however. Underneath that rather practical exterior, I detected a rather sentimental romantic, and after I told her that Elves can and do die of broken hearts, she was clearly imaging such a fate for King Finor, or whatever that ink-blotch said (Harry was better at making maps than jotting notes). 

Everyone has their faults. 

----Kay----

It was almost surreal, saddling up to escort Legolas to the border. Things seemed too easy. The city was in good order, the sewers in good repair, and I could well afford to take a few days off to have a look around the countryside. 

I managed to extract a promise from Legolas to keep in touch – though, with the combination of the logistical difficulties of efficient communication over the huge distances involved, and an Immortal's concept of time – I wasn't terribly optimistic about the possibilities of receiving more than a letter a decade or so. 

Harry was late. Well, even though his family seat of Astar wasn't that far from Bysaeli – or Khand, I should say – he had still flown across three countries without bothering to stop for food or sleep – so I supposed he could be forgiven. I decided to wait until we were about to set out before I sent someone to wake him up. 

"But there's nobody in the suite, Kay." Saro looked perplexed. "Justinia went out with the advance party, and Lara's fobbing off the provisional government."

"But Harry's in there – in Legolas's room," Rose told him.

"Harry?"

"Harry Astenovsky. He flew in last night." 

"There's no one in the suite – I checked all the rooms, and also next door." 

I swore. I knew that things were too easy. Given how exhausted Harry must have been, it should have been impossible to wake him up without literally throwing a bucket of cold water over him. Perhaps not even then. 

A cold chill ran down my spine as I ran back to the rooms, Legolas following me effortlessly, Rose and Saro scrambling to catch up. 

The room was neat and empty. Too neat. Too empty. Harry was nowhere to be seen. "He was in here when we went down," I said. "How did he get out?"

Saro was white. "We checked these rooms – there's no entry or exit except the door and the windows." 

Though it was fruitless, I peered out. Nothing. Except a wide ledge. 

Behind me, Saro sat heavily onto the bed, head in his hands. Rose gave him a comforting pat on the back. 

Fuming, I strode out of the room, only to run into Lord Vair. Lara was standing behind him, an irritated look on her face. It only went to prove how right I was in not recommending him for a position in the new government. Nobody with even a passing acquaintance with good sense irritates Lara – for she's one of the most tolerant and patient people I've ever met. She used to live with my brother (before he got married, of course), so I suppose she'd have to be. 

"Your Highness," he grovelled, "what a tragd…you!" he gasped, looking behind me. Legolas had followed me out of the bedroom, an interested look on his face. 

Vair was turning an interesting pattern of alabaster and magenta. Between Legolas and Vair's reaction, I had a sickening feeling what had happened. 

With a complete disregard for diplomatic protocol, the principles of _jus in bello_, and ordinary etiquette, I grabbed the obese weasel by the throat and shoved him against the nearest wall. "Where," I asked him with as much politeness as I could muster, "is my cousin?"

"C…c…cousin?" he stammered, turning violet. I loosened by grip somewhat, but not enough to let him get away. 

"His name is Sir Haraldr Astenovsky, and he arrived yesterday. He's tall, has blond hair and blue eyes and looks a bit like me," I informed him, "He was sleeping in that room, the one that Prince Legolas was so kind as to give up for him. You wouldn't happen to know what has happened to Sir Haraldr, would you? He _is_ my sister's favourite cousin, after all." 

Vair went a sort of lavender-lilac shade. It was really rather interesting.

"I….I…don't know," he cowered, "it…it…wouldn't do for the P…Prince," here he looked at Legolas, "to s…stay, so…we removed him…" he cringed, and I let him go. 

He crumpled to the floor. I looked at Lara, "Arrest this man as an accessory to the abduction of Sir Haraldr Astenovsky. Take him down and get the names of everyone involved out of him – then take _them_ into custody and find where my cousin has gone. I release you from the guidelines set down in the protocol for the ethical treatment of prisoners." 

Vair blanched further. I made no move to tell him that knights weren't legally bound by the guidelines – though most keep to them anyway. 

Saro came out from the room and dragged Vair away. While Lara could have done it, I don't think she wanted to touch the disgusting man. Vair, nor Saro, who was really rather sweet. Pity he was taken – and by one of my friends, at that. Oh well, they should do well together once they finally get around to it. They'll have attractive children, though I don't want to know what their temperaments will turn out like.  

Rose walked off after them with her notebook and some pens, ostensibly to take notes on the proceedings. 

After they had gone, the magnitude of what had just happened finally hit me, and I had to sit down. I knew things had been going too well – from the invasion, to getting along with Legolas, to finding out how to get Legolas home – now this. I had no idea where Harry had gone, or what would happen to him. I did know one thing, though. 

My uncle and aunt were going to kill me. 

_Note: If one uses the traditional fanfic analogy of 2.5 human years = 1 Elf year, Olly and Vas would have been, as far as Legolas is concerned, 7 and 10 respectively when they died. _

_Jus in bello = the lawful conduct of military operations in the field – i.e., treatment of POWs, civilians, non-combatants, etc etc_


	8. Delayed Departure

Delayed Departure

Thanks for all the reviews everyone! I do hope that Kay isn't sending out too many Mary-Sue vibes – I was a bit taken aback when I went back and looked at this after (and during!) exams and finally realized just how many clichés I'd used in this tale – somehow it didn't look quite that obvious when Kay was just a minor character in my other stories. Apologies to anyone who might be a bit put off by her – trust me, Kay and her twin brother, (who may or may not be wandering in, depending on how convoluted I want to make this story) are about as 'nice' as my original main characters get. The others tend to be rather nasty pieces of work when they have to be, i.e. most of the time, but since they all have exquisite manners and good dress sense, it isn't immediately noticeable.  Legolas is a sweetie, of course, but I can't claim credit for him, darn it. 

----Legolas---

Kay sank down heavily onto the armchair, head in her hands. The disappearance of her young cousin affected her more than she would let anyone see – for many different reasons. For a start, it meant that there had been, somewhere, an enormous breach of security for anyone to manage to get into her personal rooms unnoticed and remove a large, unconscious young man without any commotion whatsoever. Especially considering that it had happened in the time we had spent in the stables discussing our route to the border. In addition, I could see that she had genuinely liked her young relative. 

"I take it you're close to your cousin?" I asked, not entirely sure what to say. 

She looked up, "Oh, I'm fortunate in that I get along with most of my family. Harry's a bit like another younger brother to me – a _real_ one, not one just in a strict chronological sense." She sighed. "I hope you don't mind heading off on your own?' she asked hopefully, "I know it's a dreadfully rude goodbye, but I shouldn't keep you. The escort is ready to take you as far as the border with Rhun. I shouldn't keep you from your home, though I'll have to stay and find out where they've taken Harry. I've ordered that Tala's saddlebags be provisioned for you – they should last for a few weeks at least, the way you eat." 

She was worse than my mother. It wasn't _my_ fault that all these humans ate like Hobbits.

"I think that they've got a longbow down there for you, too – in case you want to hunt for game or – er – discouraging people from hunting you," she continued. "That's all we could really think of, but if you need more, you have only to ask."

"Kay, you've been more than generous, beyond my wildest dreams," I told her, "I don't know how I could even begin to thank you."

She gave a weak smile. "Rubbish. You're good company, well worth the good manners. Treat others the way one would like to be treated in the same circumstances, I say." 

A scream, probably from Lord Vair, came from somewhere down the corridor. Evidently, Lara and Saro hadn't bothered taking the Lord Protector very far, only out of sight, and possibly somewhere where it would be easier to clean up the mess. Kay seemed unruffled, and there was not a hint of irony in her glance, considering her previous statement. 

I hoped her equanimity was out of irritation with Vair and concern for her Harry, _not_ because she was used to bloodcurdling screams coming from down the hallway. 

"I just don't understand how they could physically do it," she scowled, snapping her fingers in irritation. "However they did it, it wasn't by magic – someone did it with their own two hands."

I rather belatedly realized that certain sections of the room were glowing very faintly, only barely visible even to my eyes. The place where Kay had so unexpectedly changed into a large carnivorous feline was tinged with a bright ultramarine. A little further away, near the large window, was a vague cloud of deep red – presumably where Harry had resumed his form the night before. 

"I don't see how it would be possible," Kay repeated, evidently thinking aloud, "They couldn't get him out without arousing some sort of attention, the way we're all packed in here – they couldn't get him out with the laundry, because the laundry's done in-house …" 

"Which means that he hasn't left," I came to the obvious conclusion. 

It clearly wasn't quite that obvious to Kay in her distracted state, for she looked at me as though I'd just invented the oil lamp.  

 ----Kay----

"…he hasn't left," Legolas concluded in a level voice. 

I stared at him. It was so blatant, so apparent that I wondered how I'd missed it. It had been an organised madhouse in here this morning. It was most mornings, to tell the truth. Someone daring could manage to sneak in and out of my rooms on the pretence of retrieving some papers or even tidying up. It seemed a bit of a leap from collecting my teacups to smuggling out my cousin, but with an convenient gap in timing….it was possible, at least in theory… 

"Of course," I echoed, feeling incredibly stupid. "This place must be a mine of secret passages and cellars." I got up and went to the door to demand the blueprints and maps of the Palace. 

 Of course someone was hovering there. This place was so crowded that it was rare that there wasn't someone within shouting distance. Which made Harry's disappearance all the more worrying. I dithered about telling my sister. Her first question would be about the state of my security – a subject I didn't really feel comfortable tackling until I had finished panicking about it. 

Frankly, though, I was too tired to have a fit of hysterics. I would have to settle for finding Harry as quickly as possible instead. 

"If there is any service that I can offer," Legolas was continuing, "I would be pleased to give it."

I thought for a second. It was tempting – no doubt that an Elf's enhanced senses of sight and hearing (of which I'd had ample evidence on the way here) would be extremely useful – but, again, I felt rather reluctant to keep him here when he so obviously wanted to be home. I thanked him for his offer, but I told him that I should not keep him from his family. 

"Kay," he seemed insistent, "if there is anything I can do, any way in which I can help…it is due to me that your cousin has gone missing, in any case. If it had been for me, you would not have invited him up with such urgency, and nor now would he be taken by blind oafs by mistake!"

I had to smile at that. Indeed, they would have had to be blind to mistake Harry for Legolas. It made me ponder our mysterious kidnappers – they were astute enough to get into my private suite, and yet could not tell the difference between a rather grubby twenty-year-old human and a millennia-old, eternally immaculate Elf? 

My own species never failed to amaze me, never mind all the others that were apparently running around the world. 

"Please…at least let me go some way to rectify this to repay your hospitality." 

What could I do? I wanted – no, needed – to find Harry soon. Legolas's hearing was far better than mine, even when I Changed into a creature with better hearing ability. 

Don't believe all you hear about ShapeChanging. Most of us are limited to a fairly narrow range of animals – I'm basically stuck on large felines and the occasional large canine, but that's about it. Primates are easy, of course, but there's hardly any point unless you're trying to infiltrate a zoological garden – certainly there are hardly any physical advantages of those shapes that can't be replicated with the right equipment and a few muscle stretches. I can't do birds very well, and rarely chose that shape unless there's someone else with me to make sure I don't go astray, though most of the rest of the family flies with ease, and nobody I know can do fish. Lara can do otters and squirrels, but that's about as far as anyone I know can get from human-shape. 

Since it was patently obvious that Harry was not under any of the furniture, in any of the cupboards, or behind the curtains, there was little point in staying the suite. I had already had it checked for secret alcoves, spy holes and passages before I moved in. It's a bit of a habit with me in any new habitat, after the rather unpleasant little incident when I was at the Academy concerning pre-adolescent curiosity and the proximity of the boys' and girls' bathrooms. It's not that I'm exactly a prude – and considering that in the senior years the bathing facilities at the Academy aren't segregated, most of my peers aren't either – but it's one thing when one knows that one is being observed and one is observing back, but quite another when one is the subject of furtive ogling. 

I closed and locked all the windows and the door as we left. It seemed wise. 

The fortress was built of stone. I had no argument against that. Most fortresses are. Most fortresses are also very cold, and this one was no exception. We made our way to the ground floor, and stopped by the mess hall for more sustenance than our hasty breakfast of bread and tea. More to the point, _I_ stopped for a snack of grilled lamb and salad wrapped in flat bread and some coffee. Legolas just waited for me politely. I had absolutely no idea how he could eat so little and still maintain muscle tone, but, then again, he was also immortal, probably several thousand years old and not human. 

He was examining the wall of the corridor outside the mess hall as I rinsed and dried my hands after I had finished assuring my stomach that I still remembered that it existed. 

"I am no Dwarf to speak to rock," he was saying, half to himself, fingertips examining the smooth expanse of stone. "But…." 

I looked at him curiously. Why people with short legs could speak to rock with any more success than people with regular proportions, I had no idea, but that thought was soon banished from my mind as he pushed experimentally at the wall. I felt my jaw drop open in the most undignified manner as a section of the wall shifted to reveal a perfectly regular opening, with steps leading to the darkness below. 

A Note on Dwarves/Dwarfs: Legolas, of course, uses the word to refer to Gimli's people: a separate race/subspecies/people/what-have-you. Kay uses the word to refer to humans who have Achondroplasia – two completely different concepts. So no, they're not thinking along quite the same lines. Kay has no idea why people with a specific autosomal dominant genetic disorder (though, of course, she wouldn't know that aspect of it) would have any more interest or expertise in stone or metal than anybody else, but she's too polite to point it out. Legolas assumes that she simply hasn't seen a Dwarf before, and thinks of them in the same way she thinks of Elves. On that note, she probably hasn't made the personal acquaintance of anyone with Achondroplasia anyway – she does come from a society where civilization and regular baths haven't quite blunted their more brutal warrior roots, after all – there aren't a lot of people wandering around the Empire with congenital shortcomings, shall we say – but that's not to say they don't happen... think along the lines of a rather astounding proportion of children who have club feet who are officially 'stillborn' and that sort of thing. Especially given that they have a remarkably advanced medical system as far as fantasy worlds go (reasonably successful surgery on anything but the vital organs, better-than-one-would-expect survival rates in Caesarean births, good sanitary practices, a sound knowledge of anatomy, and rudimentary vaccination).


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

---Kay---

Proper knights are meant to have hair as sleek and shining as a raven's wing, hair that remains unmussed, immaculate, a smooth cap on their heads even after the most brutal battles. Princesses are meant to have waterfalls of silk cascading down their backs, beautifully ornamented with flowers and jewels. I felt like a bitter, bitter disappointment to all. 

I had uncontrollable hair that behaved only after a great deal of swearing, beeswax and hairpins every morning, and frizzed given the least aggravation, such as falling into slimy, disgusting water.

The steps behind the hidden door were distinctly disappointing. Instead of leading down to a nice, convenient, dry cell where I would find my cousin safe, healthy, and annoyed, they ended in disgusting stagnant water, and a door. 

The door opened to the city outside. 

Out of a sense of hopeless optimism, I sent discreet search parties out into the city to see if any hide or hair of Harry could be found, but I was not expecting any groundbreaking results. Once they managed to sneak him into the city, it would be a much easier task to get him out. If that made any sense at all. 

Lara and Saro were still amusing themselves with Vair when Legolas and I made our way back to the suite to dry off and change. Well, _I_ had to dry off and change. The damned Elf somehow managed to maneuver in such a way so as to spring between the steps and outside door without so much as touching the rank water, while I managed to trip and land squarely in it. 

Lara and Saro finished with Vair while I was having a quick wash to try and remove the pervading smell of mildew from my person. Lara came into the bathroom to update me on what they had found – namely, that my use of our guest's name and title the previous day had managed to get the entire 'interim administration' into a state of blind panic. 

Apparently, an Elven prince was the central figure in some obscure Uridean children's' bedtime tales (I stubbornly refused to believe that it was the same one as my guest, sitting outside having a strained conversation with Saro). He reputedly took the form of a handsome blond young man dressed in green, usually posing as a lost traveler, and occasionally came into the land from the west, wandering at will, and handing out rewards and punishments on a (to me) fairly random basis. He seemed to fulfill the same role as Mother Summer, testing people for their kindness and courtesy. If they treated him well, they would have good luck for the rest of their lives. If they treated him badly….let's just say that he could be far nastier than any old lady with flowers on her head could be, including summer hurricanes, drought, dust storms and locust plagues. 

While the interim administration was not, in general, a superstitious lot, they decided that to be on the safe side, they should not take any chances. While those who had taken the initial decision to hand Legolas to me as a present did not think of such tales, evidently, later arrivals had recalled the old stories, and, especially given that there had apparently been all sorts of strange happenings over the last year to the west, they were very wary. Apparently a 'dark lord' had tried to take over the world, something that, in my experience, seems to _almost _happen with alarming regularity. 

I made a mental note to upgrade our intelligence in this part of the world – mother had not been terribly interested in happenings so far from this border – though she was interested enough in other sectors, and her knowledge of affairs within the Empire astounded even me (especially when it regarded me sneaking back into my room after my curfew on holidays). Rislyn was baulking at the sheer amount of cash that the intelligence services spent as it was. Accountants (I know she's really an economist, don't gripe) don't make terribly romantic rulers. I had tried to convince her that she really ought to have more parades and fountains running with wine on feast days, but she would usually mutter something and go back to checking the balance sheets and calculating whether we could afford one additional year of compulsory Diadem-funded elementary school. However, it seemed that entire kingdoms were rising and falling while we were dreadfully behind on the times. It would certainly minimize embarrassing situations where we would find that we were addressing letters to monarchs who had been deposed four or five coups ago. 

Apparently, someone with a slightly better acquaintance with good sense had managed to make the connection after our arrival in the city. They took quick counsel, and decided that they didn't want to risk being found guilty of any further refractions or attracting more bad luck (more to the point, they didn't want _me_ to get any good luck), they decided to return Legolas to where they had found him. 

Lara and Saro had managed to get that far within five minutes. The rest of the screaming was just for their amusement and the names of all the people who might be able to provide further information. 

I'm not sure that I should be employing so many sadists. They get results, to be sure, but whenever they get creative all semblance of time management goes straight out the window. 

I'm almost starting to think that time sheets are a good idea. 

----Legolas---

The young aide that Kay called 'Saro' shifted uneasily in my presence as Lara barged into Kay's bathroom with a distinct lack of respect for her superior's privacy. 

The silence in the outer room was at the distinctly awkward stage before Lara came out, followed by Kay, who was toweling her hair dry. 

"Send out with the west-bound patrols," Kay instructed her aides, "if they've taken him out with the farm traffic, there's a goodly chance that there might be a trail. Take some of the tracking-dogs or hawks if you think that it will do some good. You can let Vair go, if you like."

"Aren't you worried about what Vair will say?" I asked Kay after her aides had left. 

"Why?" Kay sounded genuinely surprised. "There's not a physical mark on him, if Lara and Saro did their job properly. In any case, who would believe him? They're not quite so…expansive…when it comes to creative questioning here, and, without so much as wrinkles on his tunic, he has no proof." She stopped, and gave a small smile that had no humour behind it. "I have great faith that Lara and Saro will make sure that they douse him liberally with some suitably strong-smelling spirits and return him to his wife with a perfectly plausible tale of him over-indulging while awaiting an audience with me."

I blinked. While I was no innocent to think that anyone in Kay's position could always stick to high ethical standards of behaviour, her calm acceptance and expectation of creative torture and blatant dishonesty did somewhat jar with her friendly pleasantness. I had a feeling that this was not a lady I wanted to cross. 

I felt very glad that she seemed inclined kindly towards me. Perhaps she saw me as a distant cousin of a sort.  

"Has Saro stopped treating you like a leper yet?" Kay's voice broke through my musings as she braided her hair (rather unevenly, I thought), and tied it with a bit of pink ribbon. "I've been meaning to have a talk with that boy."

I tilted my head. Perhaps I was misjudging, but if anything, Saro seemed to be a little older than she was. Kay was too young to be in her position by merit alone, though, unlike most young royals, she was refreshingly well aware of that fact, something that had taken me decades to realize. 

"The Lieutenant d'Arherindianius von Bresumarev seems to be a good deal more…reserved than your other assistants," I answered. 

"No, not exactly." Kay shook her head, then pinned her braid into a neat, though slightly lopsided knot at her nape. "I wouldn't want you to think that he was at all stuffy – he's not. It's just…well, I'm sure Harry mentioned it earlier…his eldest brother died somewhat unexpectedly a couple of months ago. Saro and my cousin were…close."

I read between the lines. 

"They were lovers?" I asked, eyebrows raised. The little I'd seen of humans, they'd seemed to soundly disapprove of the concept. I suppose being mortal and all, the continuation of the species was a slightly more important priority for them than it was for us. 

"Years ago," Kay relaxed minutely. Belatedly, I realized that her delicate phrasing had been in case _I_ would be offended by the implication. "They parted on somewhat…difficult terms." She shook her head. "You look a little like Vas, you know…just at first glance," she added hastily.  "I'm sure if Saro was around more he could soon get over it…so…it's not personal, not by any means." She paused. "Saro's interested in someone else now. She'll be coming up in the next few weeks. You might meet her." She mused.

I tilted my head at her change of pronoun. 

"She's to be the Governor here," Kay continued. "I think you'd like her – though I'm _very _sure that Vair and his cronies won't." 

Humans really were very confusing. On one note – my host was quite charmingly anxious to make sure that I didn't feel at all slighted by anyone – to the point of giving out some quite private information – and yet she was perfectly capable of accepting some fairy heinous tortures without so much as a raised eyebrow. 

Quite odd, really. 

Even for a human. 

----Kay----

Absolutely nothing happened for the rest of the day. I told my staff that Radanae was coming up north to take over administrative duties from me. There were plenty of knowing looks. Radanae Gavrillian was almost exactly my age (she was about two or three months older – I could never remember her birthday, so generally I either waited for the invitation to the party, or sent a present at the beginning of winter, with the excuse that I wanted it to arrive in time), came from one of the most prominent families in the Empire, and my sister liked her (well, as much as Ris likes _anyone_). It was fairly clear to everyone how she managed to gain her position. I was certainly the last person to make a fuss over it, particularly as she was actually good at all the paperwork and administrative things that I despised. She used to colour-code her subject notes back at the Academy – and used matching paperclips – which tells you all you need to know about her.  

What I was about to make a fuss about, of course, was what had happened to Harry. For sure, we were long past the age when I'd had to make sure he didn't swallow his toy soldiers or make sure he wasn't getting into brawls at pubs (I hasten to add that there were a good fifteen years between those two events, though sometimes I really wondered), but he was still my little cousin, and he was missing in the most aggravating circumstances. He needed to be found before he came to any harm – and, for that matter, before his parents harmed _me_. 

****Somewhere far to the west ****

"That's enough," the leader of the horsemen called a halt. "Leave it here."

Two of the others exchanged nervous glances, "But…"

"We were told to take it back," the leader snarled. "We're back - the forest is just over the river. Now, do as I say, leave it here, and we can go back. Do you want to be here when the spiders come out?"

That was enough to quell the protests of his troops. Hastily, they dumped a limp shape on the ground, before spurring their horses back towards their lands as though the very wings of death were behind them. 

**** The next morning *****

Sir Haraldr Astenovsky, Scion of the House of Astenovsky, opened his eyes and blinked. 

Then he blinked again. 

He was _almost_ sure that he hadn't had a drink since his brother's funeral, and yet his head was pounding as though a regimental drum-band was marching through it. The headache seemed to start several inches above his head and then drift steadily downwards. 

There was the smell of smoke, and boiling tea nearby. Harry sat up with a start, and immediately regretted it as the world span around him. He groped blindly for the dagger he kept under his pillow, but he knew that it was a futile exercise – primarily because it was blindingly obvious that he was in no bedroom or barracks, but under the glare of the mid-morning sun, on a patch of barren earth, in a place he had never seen before. 

If his head ever stopped pounding, he was never going to drink again. 

His movements had alerted two long, lean figures by the small fire, though by their graceful, unalarmed movements they had been waiting for him to wake for some time. 

Harry supposed that if he had felt any more wretched, he would have assumed that they were knights like himself, possibly wandering very far on a hunting trip. Obviously nobles, to judge by their fine clothes and the bows at their backs, not to mention the two beautiful dapple-grey horses standing patiently cropping grass. 

However, enough of Harry's mind remained in a state of adequate working order to alert him to tiny odd little details – their flowing, dance-like movement, so silent that they barely disturbed the ground, as though they glided above the dust rather than striding on it. The slightly elongated proportions, the fine, almost fragile bone structure, and the chilling silvery-grey eyes that seemed to look _through_, rather than at him. The leaf shaped ears with delicate points. They looked about the same age as Harry himself – or perhaps a year or two older – but there was something about those eyes that made them seem far older. 

The two were completely identical, true mirror images, with perfect symmetrical features and flawless skin. Harry found his vision swimming again. _This is too much. I'm being interrogated by pixies. I don't care that I knew perfectly well that Elves existed even before, and that I'm descended from one who showed appallingly bad romantic judgment. It's just that three in two days is too much.  _

The one on the left tilted his head slightly as he examined the young knight with that penetrating gaze, seemingly looking for something.

"I wonder," he said, his voice was a low tenor, but light and lyrical, almost as though he was singing as he was speaking. "Would it be too much to suppose that you can converse in Westron?"

Harry could feel his eyebrows threatening to leave his face entirely as he stared at the Elf. His accent was odd, to be sure, but the words were perfectly understandable. _Countless leagues, different species, and yet we're conversant in the same language. The linguistics department back at the University is going to have to rethink its 'hundred mile' radius for natural language shifts again.  _

***************************

_ Note: 'Mother Summer' – basically Father Christmas, Santa, St Nick, etc, for most Imperials. Generally portrayed as a mature woman, wearing a wreath of flowers in her hair. She gives a good harvest and fine summer weather if people have been well behaved, and drought, dust storms and pestilence if they have been naughty. Some anthropomorphic personifications are universal. _

_To Emilie: Kay would probably take one look at Gimli, order a good stiff drink, and swear that oaths or no oaths, she's not going to invade anyone ever again, no matter how tempting it is, and no matter what her orders are. But thank you for the plot bunny! It's feeding madly now!_

_To fufu gal: Justinia is the one who is very violent and does a lot of damage without really meaning to, yes. Kay is astute enough to keep her on military duties and not let her 'question' any prisoners. For some reason, after Justinia's through with people, they don't seem to be in any shape to give answers….Kay and Radanae are meant to have some similarities – well, they're friends after all, so they have quite a bit in common – as well as having had a similar education and occupying similar positions in life. Kay's meant to be a slightly nicer and less suspicious person – she has Legolas as a personal guest with freedom of the place. Radanae would have very politely suggested that he stay in a comfortable room, but would have ensured that it was at the top of a very high tower, locked the door, and kept the key, at least until she worked out what he was._


	10. The two certainties of life

_Exam season is upon me again, alas. I'm cramming in one last chapter before I** really **have to swot. _

The Two Certainties in Life: Death and Taxes.

Or, as Kay sees it, the tool for effective governance, Death **by** Taxation.

----Legolas----

Later that evening, Kay was sitting at the table in the common room, writing by the light of the clear oil lamps. She looked intent on her task, the same way my sister did when she embroidered when my father, brothers, and I went out hunting orcs or spiders – as though she had to keep mind and hand focused on the task, because otherwise she'd leap up and kill something. 

Come to think of it, I don't think Culurien has ever embroidered when we were home – not in the last thousand years or so, anyway. I wondered what they were doing now – father, Aeglos, Celebros, Bregolas. Los, Bros, Bregs. We were quite close in age – barely a century separated Los and myself, and Culu was only thirty years younger than me (though granted that had seemed like a lifetime when I was thirty). Were they still looking for me? Had Culu actually finished an embroidery piece? 

"Have you heard anything?" I asked her.

"No," she shook her head. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked very weary, and much older than she was. Humans. Lose a little sleep and they look like they crawled out of a dungeon. "But there's nothing more to be done at present, so I'm just keeping busy." She nodded at the papers scattered on the table. "Just some ideas – Radanae will probably have more when she comes – for getting rid of slavery here."

"Isn't it already illegal for your people?" I asked curiously. That was the impression I had been getting, at any rate. 

"Ah…_technically_," she said, slightly hesitant. "The wording is such that the Diadem may still _take_ slaves – though we haven't done that for centuries – too inefficient. Slave _trading_ is the strictly illegal bit." She paused. "However, it appears that slavery is the backbone of the entire economy here – and being overhasty in dismantling it is going to cause _problems_." She sighed. "Not the least of which is that this is ostensibly a peaceful annexation, not a military invasion, which means I have far less room for _creativity_, and it would certainly create a fuss if I stormed into the Slavers' Guild Headquarters and started a bloodbath."

"So what are you going to do?" I asked, curious. 

"Well, my first thought was to simply go hunting for slave caravans and slaughtering all the slavers – but, as amusing and diverting as that would be, that wouldn't really solve the problem long term. Besides, as I'm sure you know, it's such a hassle cleaning blood off armour before it makes it rust. No….I'm not killing slavers, as such, not in the literal sense, but I'm making sure that they won't be slavers for very long."  

The corners of her mouth tilted up slightly, and I felt a chill go down my spine. It was her matter-of-fact tone as much as anything, someone who didn't feel the need to kill – not because she was soft or squeamish, but because it didn't deliver the best result. I wondered what she would have made of the Darkness.  

She shrugged one shoulder. "When you get down to it, it's only about money. Slavers have high profits because they don't have to pay for their stock, only transportation and upkeep, so the sale price is pretty much all profit. But they're merchants – and like all merchants – they'll survive only if there's a market for their goods. There's a few ways to do that, and I think we'll settle for a two-pronged approach. One will be shutting down the trading facilities – first the public auction, even though they've closed that for the duration of our stay, and tried to maintain that it's the stage for town entertainment, then making it a criminal offence to be a slave dealer, declaring all children to be born free, and forbidding the trade in those freeborn. The other will be making it ridiculously expensive to maintain slaves. There will be minimum requirements – such as three meals a day, two with meat, five sets of clothes and three pairs of shoes a year, adequate housing, medical care – together with a declaration that any abuse, maltreatment or assault will be treated just as such an act done to a freeborn – and with all that, a lot of the attraction of owning slaves will dim, especially with regular Diadem inspections – and any shortcomings very harshly dealt with. I might just also remove all formalities from the manumission of slaves, and state that the manumission of a slave can be counted as a capital loss for the purposes of taxation." The smile grew nastier. "Oh yes, it will be a slower, more painful, and, in the end, more final death than anything I can do with this useless bit of metal," she indicated her sword – which was a beautiful thing, though, from what I had seen of human craftsmanship, rather plain, with no jewels, only a little engraving.  

 No doubt about it. She would have fined the orcs for mayhem, and then added a surcharge for clean-up costs. I had a feeling they would have paid it without a murmur, too. 

Death by bankruptcy. It sounded very effective, but give me a bow and a quiver of arrows any day. 

**********A few days later****************

----Kay----

"It is in the interests of the Diadem to ensure the welfare of all the inhabitants of the Empire, free or bound," I like the sound of my own voice when I'm being unbearably condescending. It's the only chance I get to use the 'cut-glass' accent without sounding terribly affected. "…and, it is the duty of all of us to be kind to those who are less fortunate than ourselves," oh good grief, that sounded pretentious. Never mind. 

"But, your Highness, your worship," the man grovelled at my feet, "this will beggar us all!"

"I doubt it," I gave my best imitation of Rislyn's patented looking-down-nose-at-unpleasant-bug look. "perhaps you will have to take up an honest trade now. I'm taking tenders for the new sewerage facilities, if you're interested." 

I left the remnants of the Slavers' Guild grovelling on the floor. Things had turned out well. No sooner had the new Regulations for the Ethical Treatment of Slaves gone out than there had been a surprisingly rapid increase in the number of manumissions. There were less-desirable side effects, however, as many of the previous slave-owners hired their former slaves back at truly disgustingly low wages, under the same conditions, knowing that since they were free, they were no longer covered by the very extensive guidelines. But they were free, technically at least, and they could leave if they wished, though I was realistic enough to know that at present they had nowhere to go. I put aside the thought that it was a stagnant labour market at the moment, and made some mental notes on getting started with some sort of industrial relations regime. Or making Radanae do it – which meant that they would be much more painful. For other people. 

"Any news?' I asked Justinia, as I got out into the corridor.

"They went west," my aide shook her head apologetically. "We found the party. They thought he was the Elf, and they were most regretful of their mistake." She paused.  "At least they were _after_ our talk." She added, completely honest, and giving more information than I was really comfortable processing - as usual. 

I remembered why I didn't usually assign Justinia to questioning detail, but Lara and Saro had been interrogating others at the time. At least they weren't vital to any upcoming court cases, in which case we would have been in strife. After having conversations of like nature with Justinia, most people aren't in any shape to do any more talking. She didn't mean it, not the way that Lara and Saro did when they were having 'chats' – it was just that Justinia was much stronger than either of them, and had always had problems judging her own strength. The only one of us she hadn't seriously injured (she broke my arm when we were eleven), at some point in the past, was Saro – and that was because he was intelligent and evasive enough to avoid sparring with her. 

"They left him at the edge of the river, with the forest on the other side," Justinia continued. "I sent some people out to look."

"And?"

"There's no sign of him – but," Justinia raised an eyebrow. "But -  there were the tracks of two very fine-boned horses – and – the remains of a campfire." 

"So someone else might have him."

Justinia nodded. 

"Send out more trackers for him," I said, then stopped, "and while they're at it, they can make some better maps of the region." 

*****Somewhere far away****

"Elladan?" Harry asked, looking at one of the Elves.

"I'm Elrohir," he corrected politely. "Would it help if we wore nametags?" he asked. 

After two days, Harry was still unable to tell the twins apart. They had tried to do something by wearing different clothes – until they found that, true to form, they had each packed completely identical clothing. Currently, they were attempting to differentiate by having one wear a jacket while the other wore a cloak – but since they kept changing their minds about who wore what and Harry still had a terrible, terrible headache from the sleeping-drugs, it wasn't working very well.

"They gave you enough to knock out a full-grown Elf for days," the 'real' Elladan said, coming back from inspecting the horses. They were making slow progress, walking the horses, as Harry was still not well enough to Change, even to demonstrate – though, oddly enough, the brothers had taken his word that he could shapechange without so much as an eye blink. 

"You need not be so impatient," Elrohir added, poking another stick into the small fire. "If you had not had a little Elf in you, you would have been dead."

Harry looked at the older…humanoid male, he supposed was the best term…in shock. 

Elladan snorted. "They may call it 'Elfbane' because it renders us unconscious, but it is lethal to most humans." He paused. "One of our tutors is always emphasizing that little point, because we use a dilute version for surgery, and it used to cause all sorts of problems when they brought badly-injured humans in to see our healers. Since they _were badly injured, it took us a while to work out the connection." _

It sounded pretty accurate to Harry – who knew that far many more people died of minor wounds and medical complications than did in battle. He allowed himself to wonder just how many deaths were caused by well meaning, but lethal medicines, designed to ease pain. 

"Listen," one of them (Harry had given up trying to tell the difference), "there's someone coming – a large party of horse. We should get off the road." 

Harry wanted to protest that it was probably a party looking for him, but thought the better of it. After all, as he was no able to Change and survey the surroundings from an aerial perspective, he had no idea where they were. He knew they were heading east, to reunite Legolas with his friends. Elladan and Elrohir were apparently _very old friends of Legolas – Harry hadn't wanted to ask _how_ long, not after one of them had casually remarked that the land around them had changed very much from the last time they had been there – 800 years ago.  It appeared that Legolas had gone missing from his home several months ago, and, while initially it had been thought that he had simply lost track of time while on an extended hunting trip (which, Harry gathered, happened on a semi-regular basis), it was not until the discovery of the guttered carcass of his favourite horse that they had suspected that something had gone amiss. Elladan and Elrohir were among several parties looking for him, including Legolas's brothers and Legolas's friends – who appeared to be of a remarkably diverse range of species. _

Harry refused to ask what a 'Hobbit' was. He felt that he had had enough shocks to last him for the week, especially while recovering from the mother of all headaches. 

They doused the fire and concealed themselves in the low shrubbery/high grass type vegetation on the side of the road. The horses folded their legs nearly beneath themselves and crouched quietly, but Harry knew that like destriers, the horses of the twins were ready to spring up and gallop away at the slightest signal – with or without their riders. 

They waited for what seemed like hours. Harry had always prided himself on his woodcraft, his ability to move quietly, but in comparison with the Elven twins he felt like an elephant blundering through an art gallery. His breathing, which he had thought that he could control, seemed unnaturally loud in the night, when even the Elven horses made no sound. He felt terribly, terribly self-conscious, and wondered if he was anywhere a loud as he sounded to his own ears. 

Harry hoped desperately that the approaching riders were Imperials, a search party out to look for him. He would have settled for the riders to being some of the additional search parties that the twins had mentioned were coming after Legolas. 

As the riders came closer, though, it was obvious that it was neither of these, and Harry was grateful that they were hidden. The riders obviously did not notice them – or perhaps they were too busy mistreating their tired horses to care. It was a dark night, and the horses were being urged on at a dangerous speed considering the lack of illumination and the poorly-maintained road. 

Once the dust settled, they cautiously edged back on the road. Harry looked cautiously to both sides, making sure that there were no more riders coming, even though he was perfectly aware that the twins had better sight and hearing than he. Harry's own senses were considered to be superior to most, but that was mainly due to his trickle of Elf-blood, so he was not surprised to find out that the twins' senses exceeded his. 

There seemed to be nothing untoward, but when he turned, one of the twins was kneeling in the dust, the other bending down. It was dark, and even in the light Harry couldn't distinguish between them, so he didn't try. The one who was knelling straightened, and Harry could see that the Elf (though they explained that they weren't completely Elf, Harry thought of them as such because they were apparently _mainly_ so – in much the same way that Harry was _mainly _human), held something in his hand.

It was a very little thing, but apparently it meant a lot to the brothers. 

It was a beautifully-crafted little silver cloak pin, in the shape of a leaf. 

********************

Note: I got the names of Legolas's siblings from a Sindarin dictionary on the web. Please feel free to tell me if the translations are inaccurate or grossly inappropriate (I live in fear that I've named one of them after a lake or something). I'm a subscriber to the 'Legolas isn't Thranduil's heir' theory. I think he's probably a little younger than the 2931 proposed by Orlando Bloom, but not much – I think he and his sibs are about the same age as Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen, give or take a couple of decades or centuries (when you're all over 2000, it ceases to make a difference), and all eight are collectively responsible for Elrond's frown-lines and receding hairline (sorry Hugo, you are gorgeous, but I don't think even half-elves go bald naturally at the rate you are), not to mention Thranduil's apparent high blood pressure and stress levels.  I think Legolas is definitely a younger son – as he doesn't seem to have any issues going on the quest (which he would if he was the only heir), appears that he was the one who had responsibility for Gollum and was sent to the Council as punishment for letting the little green slimeball get away (not exactly a task you'd give to the only heir – more likely the family mischief-maker) and because, well, he seems so 'little brotherly'. Older siblings will know what I'm talking about. 

_So – my version of the Mirkwood royals – rather scary,  stressed, single dad with a distaste for dwarves and slight grabby tendencies in relation to silver and white jewels, four boys with overly optimistic opinions of their own immortality, even for elves, with Legolas the youngest of the boys, and one highly exasperated girl (being Chatelaine of a cave must present its own challenges).  Mum got killed by orcs, a long time ago. It seems to be practically canon in this fandom by now, and  I see no sense in altering such a fine fanfic tradition. _

_Meanings of the names of the other Thranduilioni (I'm taking a gamble that 'Thranduilion' is both the masculine and feminine Elven patronymic) are: _

_Aeglos – 'snowthorn'_

_Celebros  – 'silver foam' _

_Bregolas – ' 'fierceness' _

_Culurien – 'beautiful'  _

_Since (as no doubt most people have gathered), I don't like clogging up plot with excessive description that isn't necessary for other purposes, I imagine that Aeglos and Celebros have pale silverish hair from their Sindarin/Teleri ancestors (well, Thranduil and Celeborn are, according to some theories, cousins), hence their names, while Bregolas and Culurien look more like conventional wood elves, with dark hair and grey eyes – with only Legolas taking after dad and inheriting the blond hair. _

_I am trying very hard not to make Kay morph into a Mary-Sue. I know it would be a very small step for this character, in this fandom which seems to be overrun with them, and I am skirting dangerously near the edge  – so if I stray too far towards the precipice, can people please yell for me to pull back? Is it clear enough that she's nowhere near pretty enough to be a proper Mary Sue, at least? Kay is considered rather attractive by ordinary human standards (some of that due to the fact that she is a princess, and, hey, everyone knows that princesses are pretty – or at least says so to their faces), but she'd be decidedly ordinary, verging on plain, by Elven ones. As she says at the beginning, Legolas, who is '….fair of face beyond the measure of Men…'*  is MUCH prettier than her, and Kay is generally honest. She's a devious, well-trained politician – but is honest unless there are genuine reasons not to be. _

_* Tolkien, J. J. R. ' The Return of the King,', Chapter IX 'The Last Debate', page 169 (Harper Collins Edition, 1998).  _


	11. Berenice Delmaran's Diary A Helen Field...

Berenice Delmaran's Diary

12 September 2820* 

**Weight:** 65 kg (still underweight. Good excuse for more cake) 

**Alcohol units**: 0 (on duty, after all)

**Number of times considered raiding medical stores for alcohol units:** 114 

**Medication consumed:** 2 contraceptive pills (no, still no luck on that front, it's for the side effects**), 3 headache tablets  

**Food consumed today:** 4 rashers bacon, 4 slices toast with marmalade, 3 sausages, 2 eggs sunny-side-up, mushrooms, 7 cups coffee with milk and sugar, 6 cups peppermint tea, 2 muffins with butter, 2 apples, 4 scones with jam and cream, 3 pieces of flat bread toasted with ham, cheese and anchovies, 2 bread rolls with butter, 2 servings beef casserole with vegetables, macaroni 'surprise' consisting of noodles, cheese, breadcrumbs, tinned fish and white sauce, fruit crumble with custard, 2 bowls preserved berries with cream, 3 cups ginseng tea, assorted biscuits left on my desk, boiled lollies, 10 pieces coffee fudge. 

**Food offered that did not consume:** 2 sausage rolls (too much garlic. Must remember to have talk to cooks***)

Still stuck in wilderness wondering why ancestors liked invading people so much. Not very much fun at all, just whining locals and substandard housing with inadequate plumbing. Much prefer building nice things that locals don't try to knock down in nice safe provinces with picturesque vineyards with cellar door sales. Will consider self very lucky if there is no attack of dysentery very soon. 

Harry still missing. Postponing the inevitable and did not send news off to Uncle and Aunt. Did not send news to anyone, in fact. 

Still shedding. Hate Spring. 

5.30 am. One would think that being Commanding Officer I would learn to sleep in and make others do the dirty work, but somehow feel urge to get up at the crack of dawn. Perhaps room is uncomfortable. Is certainly cramped. No sign of Harry. Elf is sleeping with eyes open again. Very creepy. Also wish Elf would learn to close doors. Elf is very pretty, but would rather not see quite so much of him before dawn. 

6.30 am. First appointment with whiny locals. Have found that morning appointments are the most effective. One is seen to be making the maximum effort to engage locals, while said locals are insufficiently coherent to whine, especially if one uses words of more than four syllables. 

7.00 am. Arms practice. Beaten by Justinia, _again_.  Am frankly getting very sick of losing to her, though should be used to it by now. May possibly have pulled tendon, but not sure. 

8.00 am. Elf is wandering around again. Not exactly sure what to do with him, since doesn't appear to be in any hurry to leave. However, very handy for creeping out locals, good at clearing rooms, and doesn't eat very much. Rather economical, as far as pets go. Eats less than my hunting cats, and sheds less. 

9.00 am. Harry still hasn't shown up. Should have known better than to hope he would keep standard office hours. 

11.00 am. Justinia comes in with news that there is suspicious movement on the western border, with unexpected numbers of horsemen. Send her to investigate. Realise belatedly that after the problems with her solving problems should have mentioned that would prefer not to have to make awkward explanations regarding farrier bills for removing gore from horseshoes. Would also like to know root cause of problems, rather than have to send multiple clean-up crews after her solutions. On the plus side, it should be good for 

2.00 pm. News from one of the outlying forts that one of the garrison was hit by relieving guard on change of shift last night. Relieving guard claimed to be running late. Saro remarked that from the medical report, said other guard was either lying down or four and a half feet tall. Something to do with angle of the entry wound. Never liked anatomy class so had no idea what he was talking about. Nodded intelligently at right moments though. Guard was also using non-regulation axe that was nowhere near accused relieving guard. Very odd. Luckily, injured and quite obviously deaf, blind and oblivious guard still alive, and looks likely to recover so long as no infection, so have dispatched Saro off to investigate. 

3.00 pm. Lara back with documents from former Slavers' Guild. Have decided that since Guild is now illegal, it does not need its Guildhouse, so have compulsorily acquired it. Absolutely nothing to do with wanting to have a look at account books. Very messily kept anyway. 

3.15 pm. Account books very interesting. Lots of interesting correspondence. Get Lara to organise questioning of certain notables as soon as she has time. 

3.20 pm. Lara returns to announce that has fobbed off job on Rose. 

3.25 pm. Send Lara off to do my laundry.  

3.30 pm. Rose enters to declare that demographics are seriously warped. Hardly any men in 16-50 age group, making tax structuring and planning very troublesome. Says looks like someone just dragged all males of military age off a couple of years ago, and hasn't bothered returning them. Possibly the reason why it was so easy to invade. Or it could be that locals haven't the faintest idea how to forge decent steel. 

3.35 pm. Elf wanders in to declare that he has seen locals before****. Apparently they were one of many bunches of people on the opposing side to his in some big war they had a couple of years ago in his part of the world. Very nice of him to wait this long to finally say something useful. Something about a Dark Lord wanting to take over the world. Don't they all? I ask him to elaborate. 

3.40 pm. Take headache tablets. 

8.00 pm. Elf finishes telling me about his cross-country trek to throw a ring into a volcano, and incidentally saving the world. Apparently he's a big hero and people adore him because of it – or possibly because he's pretty. Do not actually recall the last hour or so, but am confident that Rose has written it all down. Slight problem with ink-stained paper all over table, though. Make mental note to have future intelligence in this sector upgraded. Most embarrassing that knew little of what was going on. Make further note to have chat to Uncle, as he is supposedly in charge of the border region. On second thought, can wait until Harry gets back. 

10.00 pm. Saro back with Harry and two more Elves. Harry not looking too well and ran off to baths. Very unusual. Elves immaculate, and practically identical duplicates. 

10.30 pm. Elves curiously curious about coffee. Don't know why – they don't even get tired, or so they say. 

11.00 pm. Saro back (since when did he go out?) with news just in that injured guard recalls being hit by upward blow from behind. Unbearably smug. Ask him if he has any spare clothes to lend New Elves. 

11.05 pm. Saro less smug. Benefit of having male aide – always have spare clothes around to lend guests. 

11.15 pm. Lara returns with laundry. Has shrunk. Not happy. On other hand, excuse to get new clothes. 

11.20 pm. Everyone back in proper places, so wonder how can get Elves to clear off. Too many mythological creatures for this time of the month. 

11.25 pm. Elves sheepishly venture that they think someone else they know has wandered off around here by mistake and got into a touch of trouble. 

11.28 pm. Find myself with two more impossibly immaculate Elvish houseguests. What is this, an invasion or a house party? 

11.31 pm. Slavers' Guild Account books have all sorts of interesting irregularities. Make note to talk to their former accountant. 

11.45 pm. What the #%$&@*% is a 'Halfling' and why are they selling for nearly as much as an Elf? Slave trading seems to be much more profitable than aquaculture or shipbuilding*****, I can say that much. 

11.55 pm. Why must people use green ink in their account books? 

12.01 am. People really can't add, can they? 

1.00 am. Reports of more horsemen massing around border region. Knew this invading business was more trouble that it was worth. Silver tree on black, white horse on green. Not the locals, because locals didn't even get around to working out how to appliqué. Wonder if it's former allies or former enemies wanting a piece of the action. 

1.30 am. Time to call back to base. 

1.35 am. Ris not impressed, but at least I didn't wake her up. Swore a bit, and then said I could have more troops and money, but not to make too much of a mess. Must remember to call her at horrible hours of the morning. Saves lots of negotiation. 

2.00 am. Had enough, go to bed. 

* The Empire, unlike most fantasy worlds, is located largely in the southern hemisphere. They count their year as starting on Midsummer's Day. It is presently early Spring. 

** So she doesn't menstruate – a problem very few fantasy heroines have to deal with, for some reason 

*** Kay has a vampire somewhere in her ancestry, which shows up in a garlic allergy and sensitive skin. I originally intended to make Radanae the one with vampire genes, but I had already written a passage with her happily scoffing snow peas fried with garlic, and I thought it was pushing the 'blood-sucking lawyer' cliché a bit too far. Kay also has werecat wandering around in her veins, hence the seasonal shedding. 

**** The 'locals' are those described in 'The Siege of Gondor' in 'The Return of the King', being '…Men of a new sort that we had not met before. Not tall, but broad and grim, bearded like dwarves, wielding great axes. Out of some savage land in the wide East they come…' (Page 103, HarperCollins 1998) 

***** Kay's family has its traditional property by the seacoast, and originally made their wealth through various maritime-related trades. Of course, since they became the Imperial family, the income from the family properties is just pocket money. 


	12. Chapter 11 story format

*Smacks head* of course it wouldn't be 'Thranduilion' for a girl. Thanks to Elemmire2 for correcting that mistake. I thought the name of Gil-galad's spear was spelt 'Aiglos', but I'll go and check that up.  
  
Chapter 11  
  
------Kay-----  
  
'....Elves, while they appear to fall quite distinctly into the same wider species group as humans, nevertheless exhibit several clear distinguishing physical characteristics which indicate that they are certainly not identical to humans. Their ears are somewhat more prominent and come to a distinct point and they have slightly luminescent skins. While it is quite possible that they are an unrelated parallel species, much like the relationship between the Thylacine* and the common wolf, or the emu and the ostrich, this is highly unlikely as there are documented instances of successful cross-breeding between humans and Elves, resulting in fertile offspring....'  
  
There were a few little things that I was not going to mention about Elves in writing, a few little things that I could wait to discuss with Ris when I got back home. The technical immortality aspect, for one – and that the legend that several of our own aristocratic families were descendants of said 'successful cross-breeding' was in fact based in truth. Not to mention the little fact that our already over-crammed bloodline was officially even more muddled. Sometimes I was mildly astonished that the majority of us appeared to be reasonably human, considering how much other strange blood was flowing through our veins – and generally causing all sorts of problems. Susceptibility to sunburn, an aversion to garlic, a too-acute sense of pitch, seasonal moulting, slight long-sightedness....the list of problems just goes on and on – and that's just me. I'm not even going to go on about Radanae's extremely snappish spells once a month**.  
  
I was certainly not going to put in the part about Elves sleeping with their eyes open. Even after however long Legolas had been around, it still gave me the creeps to find him dozing with his eyes wide open and unfocused (though I would have welcomed that talent during particularly boring meetings). He was still feeling the effects of the drugs they had been feeding him, and claimed he tired a little easier than he had previously. It seemed that the slave-traders (former slave-traders – officially, at least), were not unfamiliar with his people – and the means to render Elves even mildly controllable. A perusal of their confidential records had shown that Elves sold for more than a hundred times the sum of the most valuable human slave – and that they were only very rarely seen on the market. The records showed no more than one every quarter-century or so. Interestingly, they never seemed to live for very long after they had been sold. We found some rather disturbing correspondence from a disgruntled buyer seeking a refund after his purchase had died in a matter of hours after the transfer was completed.  
  
However – as Udirea had no consumer protection laws (to be fair, neither did most of the Empire – such provisions being only commonplace in commercially-fanatical provinces over-run with politicians and lawyers like Astar, Selanir, Del'a'mar and Bersone City), there had been no refund – just a series of increasingly hysterical and insulting letters traded back and forth, with a corresponding deterioration in the quality of the writing.  
  
It appeared that for the slave trade, an Elf meant an instant fortune, a belief that had permeated into the professional folklore so much that the phrase 'May you have the blessings of a thousand Elves' was a common phrase, used to wish success on a departing raiding party. There had been many expeditions to the unknown west in search of the Elves.  
  
In most cases, the expeditions never came back.  
  
But occasionally, very occasionally, they would find success – never more than a single Elf, and that Elf frequently in very bad condition. It had been an effort to minimize damage to the merchandise that various drugs and compounds had been developed to render said Elf transportable. After the sale of the Elf, the slave-traders would offer the drugs, at an enormous price, to the purchasers – whatever they were, they appeared to be highly addictive – as the Elves all seemed to die very soon after their new owners stopped buying the drug. Yet the so-called 'protectorate council' had not seen fit to offer me any when they had handed Legolas over, and the Elf was fine – of course, apart from the increased need to sleep – and that was understandable given the ordeal that he had apparently been through.  
  
Curious. Very curious.  
  
I had procured several samples of the drug, and they lay on my desk in neat little paper bags. I sniffed at one cautiously (knowing, of course, from my Chemistry days that it wasn't really the brightest idea in the world). It turned out to be a common, though powerful sleeping powder laced with a hallucinogenic***, and another herb that was lethal to humans if ingested in sufficient quantities – cheap to make, but not exactly addictive in the strictest sense, since any human ingesting it would be dead before they could become addicted. But perhaps elven physiology was different enough that it had a different effect. I wondered if the so-called profit involved in Elf-slaves was less the inflated price of the Elves themselves, but the drugs sold to keep them docile.  
  
It was yet another mystery I wasn't quite prepared to deal with. I sighed and picked up my pen to continue the letter to Ris. Usually, when I have the time, I quite like writing letters to my sister, but this particular one was giving me trouble. I was having as much trouble expressing myself as the engineer I supposedly am. I have a degree in civil engineering from the Imperial University, something so mind-numbingly practical and appropriate for a princess intending to enter the military that it had not been remarked upon. Had I elected to major in something like history, politics or economics, there would have been considerable unwelcome mutterings about my ambitions – so I kept my formal subject selections to the deathly practical and mundane. Interestingly enough, my brother had managed to achieve the same end as I with the opposite tactic. He had got his First in pure mathematics – something so wildly irrelevant to wearing that uncomfortable-looking headband that nobody ever seriously thought that he was harbouring inappropriate designs on the scratchy headpiece. He convinced almost everybody that he was nothing more than what he appeared – decorative, like dad had been****, though less so, intelligent enough to be useful, but impractical enough not to be a serious contender for power.  
  
The blank pieces of paper stared up at me accusingly.  
  
It had been a long, long, day. Firstly, there had been no further signs of Harry, or the two fine-boned horses. It was as though they had levitated from the scene – taking my cousin with them. Since I was fairly sure that even flying horses would have left some trace, it was just one more unwanted puzzle. As far as I knew, winged horses needed a good fifty-yards run-up, or a friendly cliff-face, before they can get airborne properly – something to do with how their wings are shaped, and where they're placed on their bodies. I was never very good at biophysics. Secondly, the former Slavers' Guild was still squabbling, arguing about compensation for lost income and whinging about the appropriation of their headquarters and its contents. Well, we did need more space, and more fuel for the baths, after all. Thirdly, as we didn't have a proper administrator yet, all the tiresome little details relating to ruling a province had been landing on my desk.  
  
Fourthly, a new puzzle had come up, with some of the demographic surveyors coming back and reporting that there seemed to be a rather extraordinary dearth of males between the ages of sixteen and forty-five in all the areas surveyed – somewhat less than half of those expected in the population – in other words, men of military age. We had a new province consisting of hopeless male nonentities such as Vair and his cronies, women, children, and the aged. Such skewed demographics were common in the aftermath of war, of course, but the land itself had shown no such signs of recent fighting, nor was there any visible damage to the towns and cities. It had all the characteristics of an irresponsible overlord stripping the populace for soldiers in some unnecessary foreign campaign – but even then there were a few odd notes. There were no injured veterans begging in the streets (as happens with said irresponsible overlords – they drag farmers away from the fields, get them injured, and then leave them to make their own way home to starve), and there had been no mention of any sort of war. Nor had there been any visible sign of the rioting and rebellion that inevitably results from such irresponsibility. I would suppose that would have been the first thing anyone would have spoken about – but no. There had been silence, with all the locals wandering around acting as though it were a perfectly normal event to have hardly any males of fighting age anywhere.  
  
It was very odd.  
  
On the bright side, I supposed that at least there was less aggravation in the form of lavatory seats left up.  
  
Not that the locals had hinged lavatory seats.  
  
Or lavatory seats at all, come to think of it.  
  
----Legolas-------  
  
As I spent more time among the strange folk, I realized where I had seen some of the locals before. They were not tall, especially not by the standards of Men, but broad and muscular (though in some, such as Lord Vair, it had long since run to fat), and the majority had beards not entirely dissimilar to rats' nests. I had seen such Men before, during the War of the Ring, among the ranks of the Enemy. Like the Rhun and the Harad, they had continued to fight at Cormallen, even after the Ring was destroyed, and the Orcs and other foul things had turned and fled into the wasteland of Mordor.  
  
Like the Rhun and the Haradrim, they had died beneath our blades that day, and very few had left that field alive. It also seemed that few of those craven enough to flee had made it back to their homes to tell the tale, and the lack was noticeable even in the streets.  
  
They were different to any of the astonishing myriad of races of Men I had seen among Kay's people – who resembled nothing so much as a litter of mongrel puppies – all completely different in appearance, yet seemingly all alike in their tenacity and strength. Only a few of the men among Kay's people grew beards - and all of them her older advisors (whom she didn't really seem to listen to) and other noncombatant staff.  
  
Kay spent most of her day at her desk, waiting for news to come of her cousin, and feverishing working to keep herself occupied. She seemed to be sorting through the documents from the Slaver's Guild with avid interest. Occasionally she would pass some documents that she thought I might find interesting – usually records of Elves captured and sold for high prices – and subsequent letters of complaint when they died. Kay valued honesty over meaningless pretentious of gentility, and didn't believe in concealing the truth for silly reasons of shortsighted sensitivity. Or perhaps she had never needed to mind her manners. I rather suspected the latter.  
  
There were not many, as far as numbers were concerned, but I found myself wondering how many I had known. How many of my people had ended their days in slavery in this awful land? How many we had thought had been taken by wolves or accident had instead met with a far worse fate? I did not recognise any from the descriptions – which, since they usually only noted 'light hair, tall, slender, blue eyes', could have been any of those we believed had fallen to mere mischance or accident.  
  
It was a grim reckoning to know that so many of our people could have been taken without us becoming aware.  
  
"There are no records of any except you coming through in the last ten years," Kay said, almost apologetic. She had been rebraiding her hair again, I noticed – she did it a lot – for some reason it wouldn't stay confined and some of it was falling out at an alarming rate. I wasn't sure whether I should mention it to her, or whether it was some strange, but perfectly normal feature of human physiology – after all, my horses always seemed to shed most of their coats after winter, but I hadn't thought that Men did too.  
  
"How old are the records?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of my speculations about the nature of human seasonal moulting.  
  
"Not very – comparatively," it was clear that she added the last word as an afterthought, "the Guild has been keeping records for two hundred and seventy-three years, though I believe that it had been operating for a good eighty years prior."  
  
Not long then – officially, at least. A short enough time that any missing Elves could be easily explained through wolves or spiders or even orc raiding parties.  
  
I wondered if I would ever know their fates. A nagging suspicion came over me, and I looked up at Kay.  
  
She understood my glance. "All the ones in the records, save for you, are noted to have died shortly after sale." She said quietly, levelly. At least she had the dignity not to look away.  
  
Though it was unworthy of me, I tried not to think of their fates – and the fate that my previous captors had undoubtedly intended for me, one averted only by sheer luck and the persistent disinterest of my seriously odd hosts – there was a part of me that was as insulted as the rest of me was profoundly relieved and grateful.  
  
An even unworthier part of me urged Harry to show up soon, so that I could in all honour return home, where at least people were normal.  
  
**** You Just Don't Want to Know ****  
  
"We are near the capital," Elladan remarked in a very matter-of-fact voice as they reached the crest of a hill. Below them stretched a wide, flat plain, and, just visible in the distance, (to Harry's eyes at least), was a muddy grey spot that was the capital city.  
  
"It's hardly changed a bit," Elrohir observed critically, for, as all know, Elven, even half-Elven eyesight was considerably better than human eyesight, "well, except that it's a got a few more houses, made of stone and not wattle and thatch, and a wall around it, but, in all essentials, it's just as it was when we were here last."  
  
"Horses coming," It was Elladan again.  
  
It appeared that Elladan was the more serious of the two, scarcely saying more than was strictly necessary, while it was Elrohir who seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice. Not that Harry minded, really – he was guilty of excessive verbosity as much as the next person - and both Elves had pleasant voices, and were interesting conversationalists.  
  
"Are they bearing any colours?" Harry asked.  
  
"Blood red and dark purple, with gold and silver embroidery," Elrohir supplied, his tone critical. "That simply will not do! Do Men have no sense of taste whatsoever? That awful black and silver that Estel insists on maintaining is terrible enough – and don't even get me started on the green and white that Eomer seems so fond of..."  
  
But Harry was past listening as he waved exuberantly at the approaching patrol, the rather garish banners (though he knew he would never admit as such to the twins) proclaiming the troop as one under the command of the Princess-Heir never more welcome than they were at that moment.  
  
*****Legolas****  
  
Kay didn't have to say anything. Her relieved smile and relaxed posture said it all as she took the folded bit of paper from the grinning, dusty messenger.  
  
"I take it he's unharmed?" I asked unnecessarily.  
  
She nodded, "It appears they just dumped him as soon as they were out of the immediate bounds, not wanting to have him on their hands for longer than strictly necessary – for which I am exceedingly grateful." She closed her eyes momentarily, her exhaustion catching up with her, and I realized just how tense she had been in the last few days. She had heavier responsibilities than anyone should have had to shoulder alone. I knew now that the invasion of this land had not been part of her original orders – in fact, the way that I had heard it told, it may have been the first invasion where the invaders were considerably less enthusiastic about the entire process than the invaded.  
  
Personally, I couldn't blame her – from what little I had seen of the land, it was poorly tended, run-down, and in disarray. It seemed that whatever qualities the Dark Lord had, making provision for the lands and the dependants of his fighting men had not been one of them. I knew enough about governance to see that this land would cost her far more to rebuild than it could reasonably produce in taxes, at least for the foreseeable future – and I had a feeling that her people were not exactly unreasonable overlords. Or ladies.  
  
********Kay**********  
  
Harry took off to the baths even before I told him to wash. It appeared that there were some good points about being kidnapped by grubby barbarians and then spending a few days in the company of impossibly immaculate Elves.  
  
As a matter of fact, I was starting to feel distinctly ungroomed next to them. It wasn't fair. They had evidently been searching for their friend for several months, living off the land, making do with a couple of changes of clothes and handy streams for their ablutions – and looked as perfectly pressed and polished as though they'd spent a morning in a fully-equipped spa and a battalion of beauticians. Perhaps it was due to the fact that it was spring, and my hair was being its usual seasonally impossible self. I'm vain enough to state that I usually like my hair – at least in the extremities of season. In winter it's thick and heavy and co-operates with all my valet's strange experiments, while in summer it's sleek and silky and easy to manage even on patrol.  
  
Unfortunately, my usual change from 'winter' to 'summer' hair is always a bit of a disaster. I swear I could feel myself shed as I talked to Elladan and Elrohir.  
  
It was slightly unnerving – even after having Legolas around for the last few weeks – to be calmly chatting over coffee with a pair of beings who were almost as old as recorded history. I wasn't quite sure what they thought of the coffee, as they drank it with some trepidation, but the scones disappeared from the table with remarkable speed. I guessed that for all their aloofness and grace, even immortals had a soft spot for raspberry jam and clotted cream.  
  
We managed to continue polite conversation for some time after that. Even had it not be patently obvious before, I now knew that my guests had been brought up in aristocratic households – for nowhere else can one have such a thorough training in talking so much and saying so little.  
  
We were wasting time in the appropriately aristocratic diplomatic manner when Saro came back. Luckily, Saro isn't an aristocrat (that's a compliment, Radanae, in case you're eavesdropping), so he came right to the point. Earlier in the day, we'd had a rather odd report of a sentry being injured at one of the other garrison forts nearer to the Empire. I'd thought nothing of it – well, beyond making a mental note to have a word to the soldier's relevant commander that conscious sentries tend to be more effective at surveillance work. I was rather puzzled as to why Saro would interrupt at such a late hour (when he is definitely not a night-owl – something I really hope Radanae is aware of, or they'll really have some difficulties), until he decided to confirm that said guard had been hit from behind. By a person who was approximately four feet tall.  
  
Great.  
  
The Elves exchanged looks at that little bit of information, which gave me no comfort at all. It got even worse when one of the twins mentioned that while they were here, there were a few other acquaintances who had carelessly wandered off in our general direction.  
  
I am starting to get very, very sick of Elves. On top of the news that there are yet more unidentified armed bands wandering around, more odd entries in the Slavers' account books, and a general lack of anything worth doing in this wasteland, I'm starting to think that this whole invasion business isn't anywhere near as fun as it is in the books.  
  
Then again, nothing is, is it?  
  
* Tasmanian Tiger. Australian carnivorous marsupial generally thought to be extinct, despite sightings on beer bottles.  
  
** Kay has (amongst a great many other things), Siren (perfect pitch), vampire (garlic aversion and sensitive skin), Elf (long-sightedness, elegance, and good looks), and werecat (tendency to shed hair in great wadding clumps every spring) in her ancestry. Kay's friend Radanae, my favourite protagonist and alter ego, (who is about to make her grand entrance), is part werewolf. However, Kay isn't exactly accurate in her assessment of her friend's personality – Radanae is always verbally vicious, prickly, annoyed, easily irritated, hypersensitive and overly offended, no matter what the phase of the moon is. I was originally tempted to make Radanae the part-vampire, but I thought I was stretching the 'bloodsucking lawyer' cliché just a bit too far. Besides - 'Danae likes garlic.  
  
*** Hmmm...Kay can detect hallucinogenic drugs with one quick sniff...anyone else curious about what happens at some of her parties?  
  
**** Kay's late, famously attractive father, was the younger brother of Harry's father. Kay and her twin brother take after him in looks, though neither is considered quite as attractive. The Empress Rislyn, their older sister, is very pretty too – only many feel she favours the 'vampire', rather than 'elf' part of their non-human heritage – though that may only because she doesn't get out in the sun much, likes wearing black, and always looks slightly irritated about something.  
  
The description of the local Udireans is taken from 'The Return of the King' by (who else?) J.R.R. Tolkien, page 103 (HarperCollins edition, 1998), where a battalion of Men of a 'new sort' are holding the northward road and moving into Anorien. I am working on the presumption that since the Udireans sent 'countless battalions' of Men to fight, and like the Harad and Rhun, to die for Sauron, militarily speaking, they are now almost completely depleted, and were on the brink of collapse even before Kay and her underlings showed up at the border with a firmly worded note. Kay's people haven't heard much about the whole 'War of the Ring', and all they know is that there have been some very weird goings-on across their border, as they are geographically very far away, and they've been having their own problems lately. I haven't worked out whether Kay's people would know anything at all about Middle Earth, the Rings, etc other than vague legends about Elves. Considering that Kay's people probably only invented writing around the early Third Age by Middle Earth standards, and that Harry's family, who have a vested interest in keeping the legends of Elves as mirky as possible, govern what is effectively the border regions of the Empire, I doubt it. 


End file.
